#its the fluff on the inside of the ears ....

[tamedstray]

Send me  ♣ for a drunk text

Send symbol for different texts (or tadpole messages) ☼

It started as a wistful, wide-eyed stare, struggling to focus on Puck in the haze of too much mead. A smile grows across Vigor's face as he tries to hide it beneath his beard. «I wanna...wanna pet those ears...» he muses, scritching the air as he continues staring, unaware that Puck might notice him, or worse, have heard his thoughts.

[imaginedisish]

Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED

Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed. 

It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them. 

“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway. 

“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months. 

Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”

You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered. 

“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room. 

You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room. 

He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”

But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent. 

You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.

“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back. 

You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear. 

“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.

He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep. 

You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.

But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.” 

That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee. 

It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest. 

So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs. 

You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in. 

You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest. 

“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs. 

“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.

“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties. 

You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly. 

His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it. 

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.  

“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head. 

You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core. 

Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips. 

He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.

“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.  

He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass. 

Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass. 

You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh. 

You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?” He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear. 

He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”

“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him. 

“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg. 

“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”

“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud. 

“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”

“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body. 

“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him. 

“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him. 

“More of you,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair. 

“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”

He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head. 

Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side. 

He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”

He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. 

He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move. 

“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”

He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.” 

He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.” 

You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”

“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in. 

His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing. 

Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.” 

Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers. 

Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”

Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud. 

“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan. 

His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”

He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you. 

“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”

He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”

Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit. 

“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room. 

“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once. 

He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his. 

“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open. 

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”

The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time. 

“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper. 

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him. 

“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling. 

He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever. 

“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire. 

Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release. 

His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you. 

Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest. 

“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”

“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.” 

He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.” 

You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.

He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”

“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”

His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.

Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever. 

Everlong.   

tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[saintobio]

HEARTBEAT.

when entering the second trimester of your pregnancy also brings along an increase in sex drive that you never saw coming. and with sylus being the father of your baby, you knew he isn't one to deny you of such pleasures.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. fluff, pwp, established relationship, 18+

♱ tags. baby daddy!sylus, pregnant!reader, profanity, pregnant sex, petnames (darling, honey, baby doll, kitten), daddy kink, breeding kink, spit as lube, biting, mentions of impregnation, creampie

♱ notes. i have many fics lined up for him omg so down bad for this man like there's no saving me T^T reblogs appreciated!

“S-Sylus—!” 

“Did I ask you to stop, kitten?” 

If you weren’t already 4-months pregnant, you knew it best that you would be able to move your body more fluidly on top of his. But carrying his baby had its accompanying struggles too—the first struggle being your belly getting heavier and heavier each day. Your waist also felt more firm than usual. And your breasts, although he loved the sight of their larger size, were often too sore and sensitive to touch. There were problems of heartburn, frequent urination, and constipation, too. And also mood swings, intense cravings, headaches, and back pains. 

But as your body adjusted to his growing baby, Sylus’s most favorite thing in your pregnancy was the fact that his child’s mother had an insatiable increase in libido. It was at a point where you couldn’t control it anymore. Your sex drive just jumped way higher than his, and he had to deal with your constant need for him to release that sexual gratification you had been longing for. Not that he was complaining.

“You’re the one who wanted to ride me, honey.” His teasing continued as he placed an arm behind his head, his back casually leaning against the headboard while you straddled him. He used the other hand to firmly grip your waist, guiding you to grind on him nice and slow. “Tired already?”

“N-No.” You rolled your hips against his to find the rhythm you wanted, but it was getting agonizing how difficult it was to hit your g-spot the way he would if he was the one moving. “Mmh—! Can you… can you move for me?” 

His crimson eyes darkened in amusement. “No can do, baby doll.” 

“Please…” you begged, moaning as you desperately rocked your body against his crotch. You tried lifting yourself up to bounce on his hardened shaft, but that required too much physical exertion on your side. “Aah—ah! I-I can’t do it…” 

Sylus raked his long fingers through his Arctic white hair before he repositioned himself better, almost sitting up as he secured both hands on your hips. “You’ve been treating me like a dildo for a week,” he quipped, laughing at his own words while your cheeks were heating up from embarrassment. “Now, you’re too lazy to move on your own?”

Your desperation got the best of you when you pulled his hair and glared at him. “I would if my belly wasn’t so heavy!” 

Yet, your dominating presence only ignited his teasing even more. “Actions have consequences, sweetie. Always begging to have me cum inside you resulted in that baby,” he said with a roguish grin, brushing his lips against your shoulder before biting on the soft skin. “I don’t mind it, though. At least, there’s something that ties us both forever now.” 

“Y-You talk too much,” you retorted, growing more and more impatient with the way you were moving your hips in circles. You could feel your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth, but you knew you still weren’t deep enough to feel the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot. He had to do something. Something. Some… thing! “Ngh! Sy… please. I want you. Now.” 

“Throwing tantrums, aren’t we?” His deep chuckle resonated in your ears before he finally gave in, squeezing your sore tits with his large, manly hands, and playing with your nipple with the movements of his tongue. You whimpered from his touch, but allowed yourself to lean further into him, your back arching as he held your body in his arms. With his mouth now sucking one tit, he kneaded the other and gave it the same attention while you were a moaning mess on top of him. 

“Sylus.” 

He released your tit from his mouth, his saliva coating your breast as his carmine eyes looked up at you with a wanton gaze. “Yes, honey?” 

“Fuck me already…” you pleaded with desperate eyes, feeling the surge of hormonal tears beginning to pool in them. “Why do you keep tormenting me like this? D-Do you hate me? Do y-you not want me anymore?” 

The man closed his eyes for a moment, his chest vibrating with deep laughter that echoed through the walls of his dimly-lit bedroom. But he had been here before. He knew how to deal with you when your hormones were about to fully take over, so right as you were going to pull yourself away from him, he had already caged you in his arms, flipping you over in a position where he was the one in control now. 

“Such a spoiled little kitty you are,” he mumbled with a scoff, lying you carefully on your back and spreading your legs open so he could have access to your entrance. You could feel your heartbeat quickening as Sylus looked down at you with a lustful stare, like a predator about to devour his prey, before he leaned down and crashed his lips onto yours. You two were already too familiar with the movements of each other’s mouths, already in perfect sync with the way you would roll your tongue around his. His tongue loved to explore your mouth roughly, biting your lower lip in between as he deepened the kiss. 

It was deep enough that you had to place your weak hands against his toned chest, slightly pushing him off to catch your breath. “Haah… Can’t breathe.” 

Sylus smiled at your weakened state and took it as an opportunity to pull away and stroke his entire length. He ejected spit from his mouth and used it to rub his cock, coating every inch before teasing your entrance with his swollen pink tip. Insane. It was driving you insane. You could hear the squelching sound on your slit as he slid his member in between your labia, making you clench your insides in desperation to have him. “What’s the magic word?” he playfully asked while slapping your pussy with his thick, veiny cock. “Hm?”

“Please…” 

“Wrong. Try again.” 

“Please, daddy?” 

A loud, breathy whimper then escaped your lips as he suddenly buried his entire length in a forceful thrust. Your walls tightened around his cock as he began jolting his hips forward, plowing his member in and out of your sopping cunt just as you had been asking for. He watched with titillating eyes how your breasts jiggled with every thrust, and went absolutely crazy when you reached for his hand and started sucking on his fingers.

“Hah—haaah! Mm… D-Daddy—!” 

He clearly enjoyed the image of ecstasy on your face, so he stimulated you further by rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Good, kitten. Cum for daddy.” 

With your thighs held on both sides by him, you placed a hand on your belly and the other gripping the sheets as he continued to ram his member inside your pussy at an animalistic speed. All sorts of noise were ricocheting across the room; the skin-slapping, the squelch, the moans and whimpers, the bed squeaks. 

“H-Harder, daddy. Please—!”

“You like daddy’s cock?”

“Mmh. Yes! Can’t… get… enough.”

Sylus planted a tender kiss on your thigh, still chasing his own seventh heaven by abusing your tight cunt with his monstrous size. The moment he felt your legs shaking, he knew he succeeded. You were already at the brink of losing your sanity, your mind breaking as you raised your hips so he could fuck you harder and faster.

“You really like it hard and fast, baby doll,” he muttered in a raspy voice, never once stopping from his merciless thrust inside you. This man. This sexy bastard right here was the father of your child. And goddamn was he the hottest man you had ever seen in your life.   

“Sy, I-I’m g-gonna—!” You held back a moan, but couldn’t contain it the moment the tip of his cock started hitting that sensitive spot inside you. One time, two times, three times. On the third thrust, you could feel a familiar coil on your lower abdomen, like your insides were being twisted painfully good. And before you knew it, your body was already twitching. Your legs were uncontrollably shaking. Your breath, unstable. You couldn’t open your eyes because you were too absorbed by your orgasm, not realizing that Sylus’s own guttural moans were a sign of his own climax, too. 

As he let out a deep grunt, you could feel spurts of seed filling your core. It even seeped out as he pulled out, watching his own cum dripping down your pussy. “You look beautiful, honey.” 

You were way too sore to move. The sudden decrease in energy left you frozen in bed, leaving it to Sylus to do all the post-sex cleaning and wiping. The room itself smelled of sex, your scents mixing together to make an intoxicating smell. You didn’t even notice he’d brought you a glass of water by the time you opened your eyes again, your breath now more stable as he slipped into bed next to you. 

“Thank you, my love,” you said, returning the glass of water and pulling the duvet to cover your body. “Cuddle with me, please?” 

“Anything for my darling.” After placing the glass on the nightstand, he turned to you and held you in his arms, letting you trace his rock-hard abs with your shaky fingers. “How do you feel? Satisfied?”

You gave him a sheepish grin before nuzzling your nose into his neck. His scent could surely get you drunk if you continued to sniff him. “For now.” 

Chuckling lightly, he rubbed your back with a tender hand. “Any late-night cravings? Fruits? PB&J?” 

“You are,” was your playful reply, “my only craving for tonight.” 

The proud grin on Sylus’s face couldn’t be easily erased. “You hear that, son?” he suddenly said, moving his hand to rub your belly. “It’s getting hard to ‘match mommy’s freak’ nowadays.” 

You laughed at his unusual yet familiar choice of words. “First of all, where did you learn that line?” you asked, propping an elbow to look at his handsome face. “Secondly, how are you sure it’s a baby boy?” 

“I just know.” He simply shrugged, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. He then lifted your chin with his fingers, then placed a soft kiss on your lips. “They say doggy gets you a boy.” 

Two wide eyes stared at his crimson ones. “I knew it!” you exclaimed, pinching his nose. “I knew you were trying to get me pregnant that night.” 

He tried to hide his smile by moving his head towards your bump, planting a gentle kiss on your belly before pressing his ear against it. “You act like you didn’t beg me to knock you up,” he countered with a challenging smirk, “Can you handle having a mini-me pestering you every single day, kitten?” 

Instead of teasing him back, your heart melted at the thought of having your own little Sylus running around the house. No doubt your baby would inherit his father’s mischievous nature and be endlessly spoiled by his uncles, Luke and Kieran. You could imagine your child would have his dad’s hair, eyes, and nose. “My baby!” you swooned, caressing your belly and hoping he could feel your motherly touch. “I can’t wait to meet you soon.”

“I’m really going to be a dad, huh?” Sylus’s loving gaze made your heart swell inside. “I’d destroy the world for you two.”

You ran your fingers through his hair and shook your head with a smile. “Yeah, I know you will.”

[muzansfangs]

You tell them you got a brazilian wax by a guy.

Starring: Choso Kamo x f!reader; Kento Nanami x f!reader; Higuruma Hiromi x f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, dirty innuendos, fluff, jealousy, established relationships, nipple play, spanking, playfully biting the partner arses, oral sex (reader!receiving), vaginal sex, breeding kink, creampie, face sitting, unprotected sex;

Plot: A trend on Tik Tok made you plot a devious plan to make your beloved boyfriend going mad. He knew you had an appointment for a brazilian wax. He obviously assumed you were going to be assisted by a woman. How will he react, when you tell him it was a man? Will his jealousy go too far? Will your prank get you in a bad situation?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Choso Kamo.

Choso’s lips glided down your neck, nipping, sucking onto the flesh with the same care a potter would handle his fragile new creation. This man was genuinely head over heels for you. Ever since his little brother had introduced you two, Choso had found a new reason to live and, supposedly, be a better person. He had learned so much about human interactions, about feelings and even about intimacy. While he was not properly addicted to sex, this man loved being inside of you more than anything. He needed to touch your soft skin, he needed your warmth around him. That evening was not that different from an ordinary one.

His hands were cupping your breasts, fondling them, thumb and index rolling your handened nipples to elicit from your throat the soft moans he loved to hear from you so much. You did not fail his expectations. You cried out, head lolling back against his shoulder in ecstasy.

“Sing for me, babe” Choso mumbled, your insides clenching around his shaft deliciously as he slowly bucked his hips up to stimulate you.

The squelching sounds filling the room were making your head spin, eyes fluttering to enjoy the sensations to its fullest. You hated pissing him off, you really did, but above anything else you loathed causing his heart to ache. Still, that trend was too tempting not to try it on your sweet boyfriend.

You hummed, sinking down further onto his cock to meet his lazy thrusts “Louder? I don’t want the neighbours to complain again, Choso” you replied breathless, tilting your head to the side to kiss his cheek. Your hand reached towards his left hand, giving it a squeeze, before guiding it down towards your pubes.

Choso groaned, fingers grazing the smooth skin in delight, while he reached down to flick your throbbing clitoris dilegently “They can burn in Hell, baby. — he promptly said, smiling against your neck — All I care about it you and this sweet pussy of yours. Gosh, I can’t wait to taste your orgasm later” he praised you, causing you to shriek for a deeper thrust of his hips.

“Yeah? Is it that sweet, babe? I got to tell Akio then. I couldn’t describe its flavour to him today” you blurted out, only for Choso’s smile to disappear.

Choso.exe stopped working.

His movements halted, his eyes darkening as he grasped your chin to turn your head in his direction. Lying to his face was going to be hard, especially since he had put up such a puppy face that your heart ached in your chest.

“Akio? Who’s Akio?” Choso asked you, his voice low and a tad serious.

“The guy who waxed me today. Did I forget to mention him to you?”.

“Akio is a guy, isn’t he?”.

You giggled, booping his nose affectionately “Sure he is, silly. What’s with that?”.

Choso huffed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he embraced your tighter “A guy… Did you let another boy look at your pussy? Babe, why? Tell me that’s not true! You would never let anyone touch your—” he wept and you could swear tears brimmed in his eyes. Oh no, that was enough. You could not keep it up anymore.

You sighed, shaking your head vigorously “No! It’s a joke, Choso, please! I’ve been an idiot! Forgive me, baby! Look at me” you interrupted him, pressing your forehead against his one.

Choso relaxed, his breath still kind of irregular as he palmed his forehead in distress. You had really scared him. He could not still bear with jealousy. Apparently, he was not the type to go mad. Choso was too kind-hearted for that. Dealing with feelings was still hard for him. His lips captured yours, gently, holding you close as he relished the feeling of being in your arms.

“Don’t do it again” he whispered and you nodded your head in agreement. Poor Choso, struggling with jealousy.

Higuruma Hiromi.

This man was born to give you oral. Underneath you, head squeezed by the fat of your thighs, your dripping core bare for him to lavish with his tongue and your clitoris for his nose to stroke, Hiromi could happily die. The sweet sounds you made, the way you rolled your hips for facilitate the way he lapped at your folds with flat of his tongue were such a delicacy. If he was asked about a good way to die, the stressed out lawyer would have decidedly declared you his designated executioner and welcomed your pussy as his deathbed.

Now, sitting on his face, hands scrambling up to hold onto the metal bars of the bedhead, you whimpered out his name in bliss. The pleasure was so intense your obnubilated mind was neglecting the plan, your thirst for him not quenching in the slightest when you felt the tip of his tongue slip in between your smooth, slippery folds.

“H-Hiromi! Gosh, don’t stop” you drawled out, back arching as his hands, sprawled over your arses, squeezed onto the rounded globes in unbridled possessiviness.

He had no intention to stop, not even as his chin and nose were coated onto a glistening mixture of your juices and his own saliva. This was not a simple way to cherish your moments with him, this was downright his favorite addiction. Hiromi did not really care if you skipped your appointment with the beautician. He frankly appreciated how much care of your body you had, but he had never asked you to get a wax. Never. Still, when you did, he could not deny how much he loved the way his tongue smoothly skimmen over your silky folds.

“Ride my nose harder, baby” he rasped, his cock twitching in his pants as you shifted upwards, following his command eagerly.

You inhaled sharply, eyes downcast to peer down at your husband’s face barely visible from underneath your thighs. The timing was perfect. Eyes screwed shut, Hiromi was gradually guiding your hips back and forth to help you rub your swollen clitoris over his prominent nose. Waves of electricity ran through your veins, as you let out a pathetic whine. Now, or never, you had to drop the bomb before it was too late.

“I don’t think there’s a single hair left, right?” you breathed out, Hirmoni’s teeth nipping gently at your labia with a huff.

“Not even a single one… — your husband rumbled out — Not that I’d mind anyway” he whispered, mouth opening to leave wet kisses on the inside of your thigh. You two were making a mess.

You shivered, biting down onto your lower lip to concentrate better before shattering that poor man’s world with a single sentence “Yeah, I know, Hiroshi did such an amazing job”.

Hiromi’s assualt on your heat ended instantly. Hooded eyes opening, a knot creasing his forehead, he glanced up at you inquisitively “You meant Hiroko, not Hiroshi. I sincerely hope so”.

“No, I meant Hiroshi. — you countered back, breath still uneven as you wiped away the sweat beading your forehead with the back of your hand — Hiroko got down with a cold, he’s in charge of the beauty center now. I probably forgot to fill you up with the news” you replied, trying to sound convincing as Hiromi just stared blankly up at you.

Maybe it was just your impression, but the atmosphere around you, once charged with sexual tension, grew gloomy, almost chilling. His finger slipping into your core all of sudden made you choke out a screech of surprise, pleasure and discomfort engulfing your lower abdomen as you gawked down at him.

“Don’t talk. Not a single word unless I demand you to speak” Hiromi flatly said, curling his finger into you unforgivingly slowly.

You gaped in shock, legs almost giving up as he shoved another finger into your sappy hole, his eyes darkening as he assessed your reaction. He could not believe you had waited up until that very moment to tell him such a thing! You, his muse, his reason to wake up in the morning, you had let another man touch his nest.

“Did this man touch my home? Did you let him graze his fingers over your pubes, down to your labia, spreading them for him to enjoy the view?” he interrogated you, his tone sharp and cold, taking the same edge it did when he was in a courtroom. This was a problem. You knew you had to stop that circus.

You cried out, lips parted, as you shook your head “H-Hiro! It was a joke! It was a joke, I swear!” you fretted, watching with glee as his expression relaxed and he slided his fingers out of you.

You did not register how he slipped out from between your thighs, pushing your face down onto the pillow as he bit down onto your arse. All you knew was that, when he finally was deep inside of you, his mouth neared your ear and he got back at you from your silly staunt “Let me fill you up with something better than a fib, hm?”.

Nanami Kento.

Large and calloused hands gripping your hipbones, cock stretching you out deliciously, you did your best not to reach your climax right away. Kento Nanami, the best partner you could have ever asked for, was taking his sweet time with you. His hips smacked against yours in a firm, steady pace, as you almost drooled over the polished wooden surface of the desk.

Sex after he came back from his small work trips was the best. Passionate, intense, the lust blinding you two all of a sudden. This time, it had washed over you, when he had seen you saunter towards him all dolled up for a dinner out. A dinner he had promised you before leaving and a dinner you were probably going to be late for.

“I missed you. Wholeheartedly. Waking up alone sucks” Kento stated, burying himself into you to the hilt.

You moaned out, nails scraping the wood as you pushed back against him, squeezing him up perfectly to enjoy the way his girth made itself space within your walls. You were absolutely in a frenzy, your make-up ruined, as you rested your cheek against the desk.

“I missed you too, oh so much” you replied, breath uneven as he leaned down to plant a kiss onto your nape, thrusting slowly into you, making love instead of fucking. This felt just perfect, so perfect that, if it was not for him speaking up, you would have forgotten completely about the devious plan you had in mind.

“You even waxed for me, huh?” he whispered, causing you to tighten up around him again and for your husband to grunt in pleasure.

“You shall t-thank Noboru for the last minute appointment he agreed on” you blurted out, Kento’s eyes widening at your words. A shot through the heart would have felt less painful.

A man had seen his wife’s pussy? Oh, that was impossible. He was probably too tired and had misheard your words. The Hell with that, he was never tired when he was with you. Kento Nanami had heard you correctly. He cleared his throat, hips still, whilst he gazed down at you.

“Noboru?”.

You swallowed forcefully, glancing at him from above your shoulder “Yeah?”.

“Are you perhaps implying you lied down on a couch, legs wide open, to let Noboru touch your pussy?” he inquired, voice calm and collected, even if his grip on your hips was getting bruising.

You nodded your head “And what if I did?”.

“Then I will accompany you the next time you want to get waxed. — Kento replied, giving you a warning thrust that made your breath hitch in your thraot — You know, I would not want our dear Noboru to just imagine the filthy sounds your pussy makes, when I fuck it. Let’s give him a show, darling. What do you say? Would he like to watch me fuck you?” he asked you, resuming his relentless pace.

His hand landing harshly onto your rear caused you to whimper out, sweat beading your forehead, as you regretted your choice to tease your beloved husband. His silent, latent jealousy was turning out to he too hot to handle. He caught a glimpse of you trying to open up your mouth to admit it was all a lie, but he shushed you with another spank.

“Hush, sweetheart. — he cooed, your whines a melody he would have never get tired of — I know you were joking. But we both were serious about trying to have a kid, right? Let’s start tonight. Fuck the dinner, I’ll cook for you later” he rasped out, increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Oh, dear, your wobbly legs and the hot seed dribbling down the inside of your thighs were the signs the only two men allowed to see you naked were your husband and your gynecologist.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I always feel so giddy when I write for JJK. Hopefully, you’re going to enjoy this piece. I don’t think you guys will get a part two soon, but I do not close the door to that possibility.

Anyway, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @axesfordays @areyouflying

[auragasmics]

HIS PATIENCE IS MY VIRTUE!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! with work piling up and stress reaching its boiling point, Nanami needs a break. And when his pretty assistant suggests a trip up to Kyoto for the hot springs, he’s taking the chance to spoil you, love you, and turn his 3-year spout of patience into your virtue!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ pairings! assistant!fem!reader x sex therapist!nanami kento

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ cw! 17.3k, pwp, age gap (reader is 26, nanami is 28), use of petnames, use of alcohol, splashes of fluff, (if you squint), solo play (male), voice kink, features a conversation with gojo satoru, cumshot,, handjob, oral(f.receiving), hand job, p in v, unprotected, sensation play(heavy), biting, doggystyle, prone bone, cowgirl, slow sex, needy!nanami, Nanami has a sir kink, implied aftercare

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! yessss it’s done! 17.3k of filth and it’s all dedicated to my man! thanks to my lovely friend and beta-reader @n3vr-f0und ! this could not have been possible without you! this goes out to all the nanami girlies, i love our man!

tags: @lalunanymph @4-leafed

He’s asleep again.

Through the slivered crack of his office, your eyes dwell upon Nanami’s slumbering form, casted beneath the glowing embers of daylight. He relied on his folded arms for a makeshift pillow, uncaring of the tousled golden strands of hair that lay waste about the top of the waxy oak desk. 

He’s definitely sleeping—and has been for a while.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh, the breath fueled by concern. You could’ve warned him every morning at the start of the workday and every night right before rush hour began, during rush hour, but he never listened.  

For the three years you’ve been under his employment, there was always a single trend that never seems to hint at change: Nanami never knows what exhaustion is until he’s caught in its grasp with heavy eyelids and a slack jaw of yawns. 

And there’s one extra detail you know about Nanami is that he hates working overtime—but does it anyway. 

Originally when you first joined his side, you thought the job of a sex therapist was an easier task than most; he’d have an easy job; listening and finding a solution for others. After just one day of work with him, such a brazen thought was put to rest. Since that day, you’ve rewritten a new script in your mind, one free of judgment and assumption, because in turn, the job of a sex therapist was not easy. 

And for a sex therapist like Nanami who lacked compassion for himself, empathy and compassion for his clients claimed all his time. His days were spent in appointments and his nights were spent in books, nose-deep in pages of delegated knowledge searching for a solution. That was the role Nanami took on, the role of being a compassionate problem solver.

Compassion comes at a price, and his compassion costs him every ounce of his livelihood. Taking on a role that would reap no inherent benefits meant Nanami was always giving from an empty cup, using his blood, sweat, and tears to refill every drop he’d given away. 

He rebukes his efforts, truly. Yet, such innate dislike had never once interfered with his determination. 

It’s written all over his face once he’s done with a meeting, it’s draining work. It drains him of all his physical, emotional, and psychological energy, but he still wears a smile as a mask in time for the next session. 

If eyes can tell a story, then Nanami’s oak brown hues scream out a soliloquy that falls on deaf ears. Inside bleeds out and his story tells of a man who wishes to give up his life for the mundane. To spend his days basking beneath the sun, using the purest white sands as a mattress for his dream life.

Such a shame that the man’s only wish has yet come to pass.

For now, he’s come to terms with it, filling the pit of ever-growing resentment with work. 

It’s exactly why he’d be in and out of meetings with clients, spending late nights on the phone. Some days you even come into work to find him asleep in his office with papers scattered about his desk. 

His philosophy was simple, if he couldn’t enjoy the deepest desire to the fullest, the least he could do was help those struggling with the same reality. 

But as you watch him from the sidelines, a question plaques your mind: when will it end?

It’s redundant, but the question puzzles you every day. It rules over your mind even now as you scan over his sleeping figure. Standing along the door’s trim, you couldn’t help but admire how precious Nanami appears under such temperate conditions. 

Quiet steps deliver you just inches from him, granting you to play the role of a jury to a trial of a self-committed crime. 

Yet, the criminal in question glows beneath the ebbing light, his skin drinking in the rich hues of pink, gold, orange, and purple. His uniform binds him to his crime, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his black slacks melding within his leather seat. 

Though he committed a crime, there’s one detail that turns this prisoner into a charmer; and that’s the way he wears sleeps. The heft of his slumber can be narrowed to a point, down to his pursed lips, such pink velvety plush begging for a kiss of life.

Pity stains your heart like ink to a scroll, and it’s bleeding through in a passing heat. No fiber in your being could allow you to leave him alone, not when nothing but four lonesome walls and pestering neighbors await you.  

Pity carries a weight over its residents, and you were no different. It’s because of how heavy pity is that your hand breaks away from your side, reaching out to curl a loose lock of blonde strands around your finger. Even his hair’s soft, lacing around your skin like the finest silk. Now that you've captured a clearer picture of him, you can’t help softening your gaze over Nanami.

Was Nanami always this attractive? Even in his sleep, he possesses skills to lure you into a trance. Such smooth fair skin, a sculpted jaw clenched in sleep, his cheekbones perched high, and the dark rings beneath his eyes add a shameful appeal to him.

Trailing along his form, you’re stuck at how the burly swell of his arms tests his white dress shirt, the cotton fabric choking at the seams. His shirt just barely hides his broad shoulders, carrying the careful cuts of muscle that rise with every breath he takes. 

“If only you would share your stress with me, Nanami,” the words whispered out into the tepid air. 

Your hand falls from his distressed bed of hair, the back of your hand dusting past the fishnet stockings beneath your red cocktail dress. The time’s come to wake him up….and hope that he’s as docile as ever.

A deep breath takes you far, your hand resting along his shoulder. It’s rigid, thick muscles that refuse to conform to your touch. The lump in your throat bloats up and you ease his shoulder to rock beneath your hand.  

 “...Nanami…Nanami, sir…,” you coo, “You’ve gotta wake up. I’m sure this desk isn’t as comfy as your bed.”

A low grumble acts as a response, Nanami shuffling about his makeshift pillow. His hands hide beneath his cheek, his laxed palms curling up into loose fists as he struggles to sit up.

As a courtesy—or more so out of nervousness; you step away from him with your hands behind your back, allowing Nanami to grasp his hazy surroundings alone. 

“Wha…What happened?” He rasps lowly, his words served with sleep’s baritone curl.

“Um...Sir?”

“Huh? Oh, did I fall asleep here again? That’s the third time this–hold on…” Nanami trails off, his raspy voice breaking through the air.

He’s hazy and those clouded hazel hues trickle onto you as he shifts towards you, his black leather chair swiveling under him. 

“Oh…what’re you still doing here? It’s way past the end of your shift, Sweetheart.”

Nanami watches you bite at that delicate lip of yours, supple plush taking on the jagged impressions. That mindless tick melds into a blooming pout, a decoy for the words that toss his groggy mind off guard. 

“Nanami, sir, I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!” 

He’s dumbfounded, a rare state for him, but only you alone manage to pull Nanami into a place of confusion. A hand of his drifts to the back of his neck, itching at the sparse hairs of his undercut, trying to make sense of your outburst.

“And what exactly am I doing to myself?”

“This!” You point to his body, “This, in fact, is the third time this week you’ve slept in your office. And it’s been at least ten times this month! You’re tired, and you need a real break.”

Gawking is all Nanami can do. It comes at the price of a complete loss for words, but in some strange way, he’s intrigued by your outcry. Him needing a break? Of course, he needed a break, but he’s interested to hear what you perceive to be this “break”.

“A vacation is what you think I need?”

“I know a vacation is what you need…but I can’t force it on you,” you sigh, taking wandering steps that land you into the grand armchair sitting opposite to him.

With you seated before him, Nanami shudders beneath the stress of containing himself. 

Oh, he hates it when you get mad—but loves it all at the same time. It’s a parallel that consumes him, hating how anger sews along your precious features—while relishing it all the same. 

It’s the woe of taking every word you say seriously while admiring those plump lips bearing a firm purse and your finely plucked brows knit a harsh crease into your face.  

 And when you do get upset—whether it be at a client, the printer…or in rare cases, him. And when you get like this at him, he knows that a lecture can’t be too far off.

“Sir, you’ve got to take better care of yourself! You can hide it from the clients, but you can’t hide it from me. But…I think I have a solution!”

“Which is?” He contemplates with a brow quirked.

Resting his chin along the back of his knuckles, Nanami relies on the strength of his propped arm for support as he delves into your mind. 

He knows the expression he’s giving isn’t kind—dull eyes that reek of disinterest. And all the while, maybe it is disinterest because he’s all too aware of what he needs. But your intentions are pure, that much he knows. In the face of pure intentions, who was he to deny your presentation?

You drop your attention to Nanami’s desk, prompting him to follow suit. He studies your manicured finger carefully dragging along the wide calendar laid atop the waxy surface.

“This weekend from Friday to Sunday, you’ll be all free! I know you like to have at least one client a day, but I pushed some days around and managed to—”

“You were planning this…weren’t you?” Nanami hints sharply, his lungs prepping to bore a longing sigh.

To feign innocence, you shrug your shoulders. You hide your motives well, but the small smile around your eyes tells Nanami all he needs to know. 

“No comment, buuut, why not take advantage of this?” 

Out comes that sigh brewing in his chest. “All right…What do you recommend I do with all the magical free time? Pick up a hobby? Start a garden? Tell me, Darling.”

Nanami’s sights carry to your own, his eyes pivoting over your face deep in thought. Something about you working so hard on his behalf brings about a warmth to flutter in Nanami’s chest. As to how he’s been blessed with you is a mystery he thanks the heavens for every day. And you look so cut–

“Got it!” you snap, “Onsen. I think you need an onsen for the entire weekend. The hot water and minerals will do your body, mind, and spirit justice!”

Nanami tilts his head at the thought, “Hmm, the onsen? Like out in Kyoto?” 

“Mhm, I hear those are really nice!”

“Hm, okay then…”

Nanami swiftly dips into his back pocket for his wallet. He flips the thick bundle of leather open, pinching at his card with a single digit and his thumb. 

He places a matte black card in front of you, rattling off the steps to make your wish come true. “Go ahead and book the room and two tickets for the train tomorrow at nine, and—”

“Hold on, hold on! Are you inviting me to come along too?”

Nanami merely shrugs at your sweet naivete, “Naturally. I’m sure you’d want to come along too…unless I’m stepping over a boundary. I never asked if you had prior engagements or even a partner at home. But…if you could join me, I think the break would be good for you too.”

Your hands wave the infamous white flag of surrender, shooting down Nanami’s suggestions with a flustered chuckle, “Oh no no…just me at home! But um…yeah, I’ve never been to one. I’d love to come along. But for tomorrow…I’d have to start planning right away!”

“We could…do it together. I have my laptop right in my bag,” his shoulder nudging towards the side of his desk. “I know it’s last minute, so the least I could do is offer some help.”

Nanami struggles to hide the grin that teases his lips when you agree, taming his excitement with a guttural grunt of his throat. 

Three whole days with you, the pretty assistant he’s been plotting on since the day he hired you.

As rambles fall from your mouth, Nanami’s absorbed into thoughts of you, while supporting your thoughts with nods and gentle hums. He hasn’t been so outward with his growing affection towards you at all, that simply wasn’t his style. 

But has he tried?

Of course, by taking you out to high-class restaurants for lunch and dinner, buying you flowers every week (and blaming it on some client with a crush for you), he’s even found a way to secretly link your account to his so that not a dollar of your hard-earned money would enter the cruel economy. Why if Nanami could go as far as to pay your rent, he’d do it without any questions asked.

And now he has the chance to take you out of the city for three whole days?

Nanami wasn’t sparing a single penny, not when it came to booking that private villa with its own hot spring bath, the best seats on the bullet train, and even planning some excursions to explore Kyoto. 

“…Nanami…Sir?” 

The call of his name brings him back into the present and on your face wearing a giddy grin.

“Mm…so sorry, is everything alright?”

“Yup! We’re all set for this weekend!” you cheer, clapping your hands softly at the confirmation prompt on the laptop on the screen.

“Oh good! Well then, let’s break for tonight! Be at the station by eight-thirty, okay?” Nanami passing on a stern stare to you.

“I got it, but that’s so early!” 

“It’s a two-and-a-half-hour ride, we’ll be getting there right around lunch and with plenty of daylight to spare. Stop complaining and go home…I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nanami huffs out.

His eyes follow you as you lazily pull yourself out of the chair, your hands smoothing down the back of your dress. The steps you take are slow and saucy, leaving Nanami to bite down on his bottom lip. 

Such a tease and you weren’t doing it on purpose. You’re just yourself and that’s exactly what Nanami can’t get enough of.

You turn back to Nanami when you pull the door just enough to slip your body through, your lips curling into a fine smile.

“Have a good night…Sir. See you tomorrow!”

“Have a g-good…Have a good night!” Nanami rushes out, giving you a limp wave before the shutting door leaves him alone with his thoughts.

An exhausted sigh rips out from his chest as he leans back into his chair, his hand racing to palm his face. 

And in between the gaps of his thick fingers, Nanami’s eyes darted down to a familiar but embarrassing scene.

His cock twitching in his pants.

He couldn’t help it, hearing his name matched with the weighty title of sir sent his mind on a rampage. You calling him sir? And it just so happens to sound so melodic rolling off your tongue?

It already wasn’t normal for someone in his position to be head over heels for his assistant—but he was. It wasn’t normal for Nanami to give in to such silly whims—but he’s going to.

Before thinking it over, Nanami’s hand drops from his face and down to his lap, squeezing at the curious curve rising beneath the black fabric of his slacks.

“...maybe just one can’t hurt…right?”

A rhetorical question, he’s already tugging at the tiny zipper, pulling the slip of metal down its jagged path to its post. He switches over to fiddling with his pants button, yanking the thin button through its slit and tugging his pants down his legs with his briefs in tow. 

There’s a risk that some of those sinful moans will evade his resolve; it’s just his luck that his dress shirt’s objecting to the view of everything past his waist.  Yanking the shirt up towards his awaiting mouth, Nanami bites down on the white cotton as hard as he can.

He doesn’t hesitate to envelop his length in a fist, strumming up and down all eight inches of his pudgy tanned girth. It’s been a while but Nanami still knows what gets him going—a couple squeezes, focusing on his sweet spot, tracing that one swollen vein ruched along the heavy underside of his cock, all the turning cogs that bring him to ruin.

As he’s taking the time to swipe at the weeping bellhead, a thought pops into his head that he can’t ignore. 

He can’t help but wonder what would you think of his dick? A sinfully precarious thought, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think about it nonetheless. 

He’s no stranger to the concept either. Especially when he takes to the bars some evenings, his ears pick up all the talk of drunk girls gossiping about how “pretty” their boyfriends’ dicks are. It’s so vulgar then but now…he’s craving to hear your thoughts more than anything.

What would you have to say about his size, his length, the way his cock sits with a curve that defies gravity? Suddenly, he’s choreographing a scene in his head, picturing you on your knees, patiently waiting for him to rip down his briefs and expose himself to you. 

At the thought, he’s picking up a slow pace. His taut fist lazily drags up his shaft and down to the base, utilizing a deathly grip that sends shivers down his spine. 

Just for this special occasion, he pulls his shirt from his clenched teeth for a moment to curl over his thighs. Through the pucker of his lips, Nanami sends a thick spool of spit to dance over the flushed head of his cock, the soapy pool dribbling down his length. 

His hand meets the trail of spit gradually, his thumb back to swiping along his now glossy underside. 

“Oh fuck…” he hisses, writhing in his seat at the new sensation claiming his being. Just stroking himself was decent but stroking himself when he’s dripping like this makes for a new cadence to be found. 

Why, it’s so much better that he’s eagerly picking up the pace, his fist sent to swivel up and down his endlessly hardening cock, squeezing at the tip whenever he saw fit. 

His eyes risk exiting the scene, fluttering back with the mean strides he weaves. Just to his dismay, a flickering light pairs annoyingly well with the vibrations of a call cursed Nanami’s chance at relief.

He usually isn’t this careless, picking up the phone call without identifying the caller.

“Hello?” He drones into the microphone. 

And it’s just his luck that it’s you.

“Hi, Sir! I had a question…”

Sir. Three letters, a single syllable, and the key to Nanami’s lustful demise. If only you knew the filthy hold that ghastly word held over him.

Just by hearing your sweet voice utter such a word, lawless pangs laid waste to Nanami’s fisted cock in sinful bliss. Was this some form of karmic reward? To hear your voice right before indulging in himself had to be some prize.

He’s forced to bite down the groans in his throat and trade his cries for coherent words. “Wha…What’s wrong, Sweetheart? You just left the office.”

“Oh, I know!” He can hear the pout in your voice, those plump lips pushed out for everyone but him to see. “It’s just that I was thinking…nine is just so early! And our tickets are good for all day. Can weeee leave just a little later?”

Nanami wants to listen to your pleas, he truly does, but he has to deal with something new befalling him: his body’s blatant betrayal.

His hand’s moving on its own, choking the fat girth of his cock all the way up to the tip, viciously squeezing the pink crown into nasty pale hues. Even at a time when he’s meant to be serious, his body’s adamant on milking itself dry. But must he be so slow yet unforgiving to himself like this?

“…Sir? Hello? Did the call drop?”

“No! I’m still here…” Nanami’s sudden outburst breaks the silence.

He pins the phone between his ear and shoulder, relying on his two hands to ease the relentless pit boiling at his core.

He had to find some way to get that sinful title rolling off your tongue again. So what could be brought up to keep your voice purring?

“So…since my suggestion is too early, what do you have in mind…Honey?”

“Glad you asked, Sir!”

One. 

He’s pulling on his cock with a heavy drag, only for all his efforts to be spat out in glossy tears of precum. He’s making a mess of himself, the glassy rivulets trickling down his ghostly knuckles. He’s nowhere near the sacrums of nirvana but the display he’s forced to bear witness to hints at an early arrival. 

“Uh-huh, go on.” he’s mumbling between gritted teeth. He’s losing temperance over his breaths. 

“…and we’d still have plenty of time to explore the town, Sir.”

Two.

Now, Nanami’s getting the best of himself, purposely focusing on the head of his cock in short yet quick pumps. He’s extra keen on how sensitive he is too, pitting his thumb to curve right along the against his sweet spot.

He’s so close, shamefully closer than before. He knows that if he keeps on swiping at his underside like this, he’ll be binded to an explosive fate any minute. 

“I know you like to be punctual but please, Sir?”

Oh…now you’re begging him. That’s three.

The thick gush of white splatters all over Nanami’s heaving stomach, his chiseled abs glistening in a hot, opal tinge. 

Before he can even afford to echo the bliss ripping through his body, Nanami yanks the phone from his ear and presses the microphone against his chest to muffle any pathetic whimpers that slip him by. 

The poor man, fair skin licked by a familiar fleeting heat and flinching in his seat by the cold wash that follows. He can’t remember the last time he’s let go like that, but the splattered canvas he’s reduced himself to tells him exactly what intuition would scream at him. 

He’s just about ready to clean up but something feels…off. There’s just something he can’t put his finger on—

The phone call. 

He panics, rushing to press the phone to his ear.

What was the last time you said? Something about please si—

“H-Hey, hey…you don’t have to beg me. Do me a favor, ‘kay? Just text me what time you want to meet at the station and I’ll be there.”

“Okay! Well then…get home safe and I’ll see you tomorrow…sir.”

Four.

It’s a punch in the gut this time because while he thought he’s been milked dry, Nanami’s eyes shoot apart at a bewildering sight: He’s still cumming.

His twitching cock’s forcing out a timid stream of white that’s dripping down his black slacks and running off onto the floor beneath him. 

Nanami’s husky voice is washed in grief, the desire to cry out against the bliss of overstimulation dances on his tongue—but he has to send you off first.

With as mellow of a tone as he can rally, Nanami sends you his final thoughts.

“You too. Get home safe and see you tomorrow.”

The call ends and Nanami’s seething behind gritted teeth. 

“Fuuuck,” he cursed to himself, his soiled hand still gripped around his twitching length. He wants to move, clean himself up, and get home to prepare for tomorrow, but fatigue’s already batting behind his eyelids. 

Slouching back in his chair, Nanami finally allows his lungs to catch some air, his heaving chest stabilizing at last. 

He’s a mess, the chair’s a mess, and even the floor too, but he isn’t focused on such miniscule details that nothing a good cleaning couldn’t take care of. Fresh off his orgasm, Nanami’s back to thinking about you and the weekend ahead. 

The gears in his head are clicking and he’s thinking that maybe—just maybe, he’s earned the opportunity of a lifetime to do the one thing that’s been on his list for the last three years: to make you his girlfriend.

He can’t take it anymore, being in the office acting like he’s so standoffish when he truly wants nothing more than your presence. Your smile starts his day, your care for his well-being motivates him, and your kind words fill his heart in ways he can’t even describe.

He hasn’t regarded you as his assistant these past three years, more like his girlfriend who isn’t aware of his full-fledged commitment.

It’s so pathetic, he knows. But thanks to you, finally…Nanami’s goal was within reach. All he had to do was chase it. 

Nanami’s sentiments only grew during the night and into the next day: Friday, the day he’s set to journey off with you. 

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

It’s been a blur since Nanami’s woke up—he’s been busy packing, cleaning his apartment, and standing in front of the mirror deciding which suit he should don for the day.

 As the clock struck two, bags gathered by the door and a plain black suit with a white button-down dresses his body. He’s forgoing a tie for the weekend too, a few undone buttons present the dips of his collarbone prepared to bear the day’s breeze. 

But there’s peril racing through Nanami’s mind, and has been since the previous night: he has no clue how to act or even go about courting you into being his girlfriend by the end of the hot springs trip. All he knows up to this point is subtlety—and subtlety is not an option in his arsenal. 

The field of romance is a realm he’s barely pillaged through except for a few flings that led to nothing. You’re too different for his typical approach. He needs his message to come out clearer than glass, and for those kinds of results—he’s turning to one…annoying person for advice.

As Nanami reaches into his pocket, he can taste regret staining his tongue. And as he’s clicking onto that damned contact, he’s cursing himself for even thinking of turning to this man for advice.

And when the line connects, he’s kissing his teeth at the sound of his nickname falling from the lips of one…Gojo Satoru.

“Nanamin! You rarely call me these days! I miss you y’know,” the smooth voice trumpets out into his ear. 

Huffing out the last bit of his pride, Nanami sighs into the phone, “Ah well…um, Gojo…I need some…help.”

“With?”

“A woman. My assistant, to be precise. We’re going out of town for the weekend and—”

“Nanami? Going on a trip? I must’ve died. And with a lady? I’m in an alternate universe now,” Gojo teases. “So, what do you need help with, I’m a little lost.”

Nanami drops himself on the edge of his sofa, the taupe leather dipping beneath his weight. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at his tensed skin. 

“She’s my assistant but…Gojo…I really want her to be my girlfriend. I have for the past three years. But my hints are too subtle and this is my best chance to finally be honest with her. I just don’t want to mess up. We’re going out to Kyoto

“Three years? You’ve always been patient, but this is extreme, Nanami. And the hot springs…you planning on—”

“Stop it right there. Just…tell me what you’d do.”

Nanami stares at his phone as the line goes silent, waiting for Gojo to say something—anything, really. 

“Nanami, now I can’t help you too much, I’m not the relationship type. But just think about it like this, if you’ve had your eye on her for three years…and she’s been working with you for three years, obviously there’s something she likes about you too. This is so cliche and I’m cringing at the thought but…be your—”

“No.” Nanami immediately shuts down. 

“Yes, and let me explain. Don’t try to be some guy you’re not, women pick up on that too easily, especially since you guys are going out on this trip. Be yourself and when the time comes, tell her how you’ve felt. And no matter what happens, just be proud that you were honest with yourself, okay?”

“Yeah…that works.”

“Good!” Gojo cheers, “Now go have fun and bring some condoms! You never know what’s—”

“Goodbye, Gojo,” and just like that, Nanami’s thumb isn't hesitant to end the call with a click. 

“Just be myself…” he’s mulling over. While it’s sad to say that Nanami already knew that, he was hoping for something a little more out of Gojo. But himself is all he can be, then that’s exactly how he’ll act. 

Slotting his phone back into his pocket, Nanami catches a glimpse of the time from the face of his watch.

3:00 P.M.

He had just an hour to himself before sitting on a two-hour train with you. But before that reality could be realised, He had a few errands to knock off his list.

The next time Nanami checks his watch, he’s leaning against a white tiled column in Tokyo station. 

And the time is…3:45. 

Those that surround are others caught up in their own lives—teenagers dressed in uniform, businessmen in their suits chasing the next transfer, and families strolling out the exits; all the people and not a single one knew the nerves that ambush his calm mind. 

Not a single one knew of the havoc crashing through his body at the reality he’s set to enter. He did all he could to prepare, yet he can’t comprehend that he’s the last piece to the puzzle. Everything’s in line like dominoes, and all he had to do was strike the porcelain trail down.

And something about that, such ease, nothing about that sits right in Nanami’s mind. 

Until the winning move falls right into his unexpecting lap. 

“Oh! Nanami! Hi, sorry for making you wait! This station is just big, thankfully I just followed my gut and found you here,” the familiar voice rings in his ear.

He looks up to find your starry eyes already set on him from a few paces away. Nanami’s staring at you, hard. He’s never seen you in anything that wasn’t professional wear, that’s the excuse that plays in his mind over and over like a broken record. 

You, in that silk yellow blouse that grants so much cleavage thanks to its low-cut neck. And the pleated light gray skirt around your waist is just so short, just one mishap and it’s all over.

Amidst all his leering, Nanami almost allows himself to forget manners. He meets you just halfway, wearing a soft smirk as he reaches for your bag.

“Here, allow me.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Sir—"

It’s that damned word again. The letters rolling off your tongue bring a haunting memory from yesterday back into Nanami’s mind. He clenches the leather strap of your carry-on ever so tightly, gradually collecting himself before speaking. 

“Hey Darling, you can drop the ‘sir’, okay? We’re on vacation after all. Nanami works just fine, or even…Kento works, if you want.”

He’s enlightened by the smile you put on your face, the peaks of your cheeks polished beneath the station’s fluorescent lights. 

“Oh, sorry about that! ‘m just so used to the honorifics. But…alright then, Nanami. Is my bag too heavy for you?”

“No, no, it’s really not heavy at all. But we should get to the platform, though,” Nanami tokens with his head towards the destined path. “Are you ready?”

A kind smile grew across your glistening lips as you leaned towards Nanami, your hands softly clapping with approval. “Lead the way then, I’m right here.”

And Nanami does just that. He spins right on the heel of his shoe and walks with occupied hands, a tepid stare of his path ahead, his mind swirling with thoughts of you, and you at his side. 

The station’s loud, loud with chatter, giggles, running feet, and warbling notifications on the intercom, and as all this goes on around him, Nanami can’t help but be absorbed into his own world. A world that included you. 

Every so often, he steals a glance at you, his wistful eye watching you marvel at the station’s lively atmosphere. But all he can think about in his world is you; you and your beauty. He’s enamored at your mindless antics, the way your lashes flutter with each blink, the way your lips twist up–he’s even stuck over. But looking at you wasn’t enough, not when there’s this wall between you two. 

It’s invisible to everyone but him. It’s one that he can look over, one that he can easily topple over with a sigh, but it’s one that he can’t fathom to crack without a proper plan.

The wall of silence—Nanami’s greatest ally turned enemy. 

He isn’t used to this: sharing his intimate time like this. If he’s not holed up in his office, he’s out on his own tending to errands or matters of business. His usual standoffish method stands no chance today if he aims to woo you.

So, he went to the first thing you both had in common for the moment: emotion. 

“So…” Nanami begins as he scours his mind for the words. “Are you…excited?” 

You extend a kind look to him, soft eyes that pair well with your smile. “Of course I am! I’ve never been to a hot spring before, but I’ve heard so much about them and how good they’re supposed to be. I can’t wait for that hot water to hit my skin! How about you, Nanami?” 

“Me?” He echoes with an arched brow. “Well…guess I’m excited too. Breaks are something I always want to take, but I never seem to act on them. The second I give it some thought, I’m already calculating missed opportunities and risks. I appreciate you pushing for this, Honey. Just make sure you have fun for me, okay?”

“For you?” Maybe you weren’t supposed to catch that slip-up, but being with Nanami like this was already fulfilling you beyond words. For him to be walking beside you, holding your luggage like it's nothing but a feather, it’s all too much for your mind to contain. 

Moving dates around to have the weekend available worked in your favor. Three whole days tucked up beside Nanami, waking up with him, exploring Kyoto together, and even bathing together clouds your imagination with sinful thoughts. 

He hides the full extent of his figure beneath suffocating suits, but you know all too well that Nanami’s physique is on par with the gods themselves. With his arms, back, and thighs banded with muscle, his developed chest taut with contour, and his big hands teeming with veins, your eyes were ready for it all. 

And if the weekend ends with you bent over to help relieve all the pent-up stress he talks about in sessions, it would all be for a promising cause.

“Aww, Nanami…then let’s have fun together. But if I–Oh look, here we are! And the train’s boarding too, should we board? Looks like we’ll have to look for seats too,” your voice carrying a dull sigh.

“It’s fine, I think I can see two seats right there,” Nanami directs with a tilt of his chin. 

He leads the way once more, urging you to board the train in front of him. The seats he took note of. You slip inside first, taking the window seat just as Nanami saw in his head.

Before he could join you, Nanami marks his spot with a small white plastic bag on his seat before loading the suitcases into the overhead bin and grabbing it again before sitting beside you.

Tugging the bag open, he reveals two sandwiches inside.  “Oh, I stopped by the bakery on my way here and grabbed sandwiches. I um…I noticed what you like on yours, so…here you are.”

Trying to still his trembling grip, Nanami carefully places the tightly bundled sandwich into your awaiting hands. 

“Aw, thank you so much! You really didn’t have to! I was just gonna wait until we got to Kyoto to eat!”

The smile that consumes your face is contagious, prompting Nanami to hide his own grin behind a clamped hand. 

“It’s a long ride and I have a feeling you might have missed breakfast, so…hope you like it, Sweetheart.”

Nanami’s hope of gawking at you is cut short when you catch his leering sights. 

The heat of embarrassment crackles beneath his skin, something he knows he can’t hide from you. 

Rather, he adjusts himself, pushing his glasses up against the bridge of his nose with an excuse fumbling out from his lips. 

“Sorry. I was just, uh–”

“Y’know, I was wondering,” you swiftly suggest a new subject, “…what do you look like without your glasses?”

Quirking up a brow, Nanami finds himself turning towards you amidst the cloud of blush claiming his cheeks. “Curious?”

“Very. But if they’re prescription, then please just ignore–”

“They’re not. They’ll more like sunglasses, but here, I have nothing to hide.”

At your implied request, Nanami’s glasses sit squeezed between his grip as he pulls them off his face. He’s met with your awestruck face—widened eyes and gaping lips.

“Scary, huh? I bet I look…uh…Sweetheart?”

“Nanami…you look so…different?”

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, “I’m gonna sound old here but you look so handsome! And your eyes, they’re like brown with a dash of green?! That’s so pretty!”

He’s handsome??? That’s a word Nanami never expected to hear fall from your lips. And you’re keeping those doe eyes pinned on him and only him too.  Now how is he going to play this off? Hide his entire face behind his palm? Or maybe he should get up altogether and try to calm down…

“Oh…thank you, Darling. Um…I’m gonna go use the bathroom, alright? Be right back.”

Nanami doesn’t get the chance to hear you reply, not when he’s dead-set on returning to you. Just his luck that the bathroom is at the end of the cabin—and unoccupied.

He nearly throws himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Beneath his feet, he can feel the train’s latent drags over the tracks, officially beginning the long ride to Kyoto. 

Nanami leans against the white sink, grasping the thick porcelain rim with a bruising grip. He’s met with the slender mirror tucked between the chamber’s corner, and just as he knew it—he’s red. From the tips of his ears down to his cheeks, it’s all pink…and seems to only grow richer. 

That was…pathetic. A few words of kindness—no, a compliment from you about the qualities he already knows about himself places him in this sweating, breathless rut. 

He’s pathetic. If that’s all it took for him to crack, how could he be allowed to think about sleeping in the same bed as you or even bathe with you? This was the place to shake out all those nerves, all those second thoughts haunting his mind, because after this moment, Nanami would no longer be alone. Because at this moment, Nanami is staring at his last moments as a bachelor before he’s married off to the idea of being yours. 

He reaches out for the handle, granting cold water to shoot out of the facet. 

A few chilly splashes contrast the heat and he’s back to staring back at his fair-skinned reflection. 

‘A calm mind keeps a sound body’, that’s the mantra that plays in his head as he tends to his suit, tugging at the sleeve cuffs gently before exiting the bathroom and walking back to his seat. Upon finding you again, he finds you peering out the window of the passing landscape, the city slowly fading out into the countryside’s green pastures. 

He notices your fidgeting fingers, nervously linking around each other. Of course, you felt something and his jetting to the bathroom only made things worse. 

“I’m back,” he utters for your ears to hear. 

Tilting your head back against the black leather, your eyes find Nanami’s, his unfiltered mossy hues falling onto your own.

“Feel better?” Your soft voice greets him. 

Sheepishly, Nanami nods as he drops back into his seat. “Yeah, I just needed a moment.”

You shift closer to Nanami, resting your arms along the armrest between your bodies. “Did I…say something wrong?”

That’s when Nanami’s heart drops straight to the soles of his feet. He’s tossed into a state of sheer panic, raking his mind for some makeshift apology to soothe your worries. So many things he could say, but he’s settled for something he would prefer to hear: the raw and honest truth, no matter how pitiful it may seem. 

A sigh breaks out of Nanami’s chest and into the air. He resorts to squeezing at the bridge of his nose to assemble his mind. “No, no, never that, Honey! It’s just that I’m not used to getting compliments…at all, really. And I get so red, it’s all just embarrassing to me.”

You perch your chin within your open palm, a faint smile gathering on your lips. “That’s so cute, Nanami! Well, since you’re not used to ‘em, I’ll give them to you. Because…you really are handsome…sir.”

Oh, you must be doing this on purpose, pushing all his buttons to get a reaction. He can’t even hide his grin anymore, not that he wants to, you’re getting a rise out of him—and he’s loving every single moment.

He’s loving it so much that he can’t help but join you, levering his neck to give you his attention. He’s doing so with a rare smile, one that leaves the peaks of his cheeks brimmed. 

“Oh, but that’s not your job…that’s mine. How could I have forgotten to tell you just how beautiful you look? Yellow looks really nice against your skin, Sweetheart.”

Nanami catches himself in the moment, how he’s moving closer to your beaming visage. He allows his sights to shift from between your eyes and down to your lips before taking in a harrowing breath. 

There’s only one thought in his mind…this was going to be an interesting ride. 

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

“C’mon! The villa’s just around the corner!” You point, turning around to gauge Nanami’s awareness. 

“Slow down! I’m right behind you!” he chuckles, tucking the luggage beneath his arms. 

Two and a half hours, that’s all it took for Nanami to break the ice of workplace formality with you. Since his outbreak on the train—and your affirming words; he’s found himself floating on a cloud. 

Now he’s trudging up some stairs behind you all the way up to the villa, secluded from the outside world. 

Since arriving in Kyoto, Nanami’s been taken away by the historic landscape of the area. Lush green trees stand tall amongst bushes and shrubs, and blooming flowers surround the quiet town at every corner.

The only unfortunate fact about the town was that everything closed at six on Fridays, and the train ride got you both here at six thirty. Which meant no nighttime browsing, no dinner, and room service was about to close.

But it’s a fact that Nanami’s willing to dismiss the moment he stood at the villa door with you at his side. 

He’s dipping his hand into his pocket for the key, pressing the gold-plated metal through the slot. “Here we are, go on ahead,” Nanami grins, his hand pushing the door open for you.

“Nanami,” you coo, “You go in first, you’ve been lugging those bags up here.”

“No, it’s fine. You know the saying, Sweetheart, ladies first,” He smirks.

What Nanami didn’t anticipate was how close you were, your body flush against his own. And your eyes, they’re lingering on his own as you slip past him, pulling a breathless gasp from his lungs. 

“Well…if you insist. I’m gonna go shower first then, meet you in the water, Nanami.”

“O-Okay,” he stutters out dumbly, his eyes left to hinge on your disappearing figure. 

There’s another fact that Nanami’s taken note of since the train ride, how casual you’ve become with him so quickly. The fact brought him back to his phone call with Gojo and all that was shared.

It has Nanami mulling over what Gojo said, you already have some kind of feelings toward him. The train ride provided him with enough evidence, but logic tells him not to assume anything further. 

And maybe you did feel the same way about him that he’s felt about you for the past three years. Tonight he was willing to put all that to the test, and he only hopes the results come out in his favor. 

Dragging the bags inside, Nanami shuts the doors behind him, only to take in the villa with a scanning glare. 

Takami mats replace the hardwood floor he’s become used to, with white walls surrounding him. The living room is quaint, with a black sofa against the wall with two armchairs joining the assembly. Just past the living room is a deck that looks out over the town, with a pool of steaming water just past a few steps. 

“Nanamiiii?” You sing from around the corner, breaking his focus with ease.

“Yes, Sweetheart?” He’s chuckling to himself. God, if his last name sounds this good, how would his first name roll off that tongue of yours?

He walked towards the source of your voice, only for him to be greeted with the scene of you standing in the middle of the hallway with nothing but a towel wrapped around your body. 

To ground himself fast, Nanami clears his throat and keeps his eyes pinned on you. And only your eyes. 

“Is the shower off or something?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. There’s soap, towels, toothbrushes, and toothpaste, the bathroom’s great. I was thinking, should we order something? Maybe some hot sake and snacks? 

“Get whatever you want,” he shrugs, taking a hand through his hair.  I’ll have some too, so don't wait for me. I’m gonna go shower too, so go ahead and soak.”

You give Nanami one of your smiles before walking past him—just in time to give him some words of encouragement. 

“Don’t take too long, it’s gonna get lonely without you.”

Nanami stands in the doorway of the bathroom, taking one more glimpse at you with his head shaking. 

“I won’t.

The next time Nanami gets to see you is after his shower, a brief ten minutes that’s synonymous with an eternity. He leaves the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair weighted by water and his mind running on mischievous fumes. 

Finally, he has you all alone with no outside noise to impede on his slice of heaven. He’s strolling down the hallway with his head held high, exuding the sheer heat of confidence off his slicked skin.

Who knew that the moment he caught a view of you, all his hard work would be swept up under the rug and replaced by naive awe?  

Nanami swears to himself that he’ll look away, but it’s a promise bound to be broken because he simply can’t find elsewhere to rest his sore eyes except on you. You and the gentle curves of your glistening body perched along the ring of rocks compassing the private hot spring. Beside you is a small bowl that floats, holding what he can safely assume to be the hot sake you wanted. 

He doesn’t quite get what’s so amusing about the scene either, but there’s something about observing you participate in the mundane task of peering out over the settling town made Nanami’s cheek swell with a rousing heat.  

A part of him almost doesn’t want to distract you—but his imagination was painting him too many scenes that needed his hand to unfold. 

Biting the innards of his cheek, Nanami gathers what’s left of his ebbing confidence to walk down the deck steps, the wood creaking beneath his every step. 

“How’s the water?” Nanami’s question breaks the silence. 

His voice coaxes you to meet him with a welcoming grin, “It’s so nice! And the sake got here too, it’s not too sweet and it’s still warm, just for you.”

Nanami stands at the pool’s edge, his hand encircling his hidden waist. “Yeah, y’know I’m not even much of a drinker, but I’ll try my hand at it tonight.”

He’s still got your regard, the two of you trapped in a trance until he notices your gaze wavering further along his body. Down his bulging chest bejeweled by water droplets,  the carefully sculpted contours of his abdomen, down to the fluffy white towel hanging around his hips. 

“Well…,” you purr, “Aren’t you coming in, Nanami?”

Slowly, Nanami lowers himself into the steamy bath, his foot settling onto the shallow bottom. The misty water splits around him as Nanami introduces himself. The water comes up no further than his mid-thigh, but the moment he sits down, he’s pulled into an embrace that captures most of his chest.  And yet, he can’t hide the sigh of relief that trumpets out his mouth, his head dropping back between his shoulder blades.

“Oh wow,” he pants, “Feels so good.”

“Right, and with a little sake…” you push the wobbling bowl to swim across the pool towards him, “You’ll feel even better.”

“Really?” Nanami smirks as the sake enters his realm. He’s quick to pour himself a cup, filling the stout ceramic cup to the brim. 

“If you want some more…gotta come a little closer, Sweetheart,” he teases as he brings the rim of the cup to his lips. 

“Guess I could go for a little more,” you give into him with a chuckle, rising from your spot with a hand clipped to the overlapping layers of your towel. 

Slow, sweeping steps cut through the water as Nanami gawks at your bearing silhouette. That pesky towel clings to your body, but all it does is complement your curves—those very curves that sit nuzzled to his side as you sit beside him. 

“How’s this? Close enough?” you press, your head lolling against the rocky edge to face Nanami’s flushed face. 

“I’ll take it,” Nanami snickers as he works himself to pour your cup. “Here, should we make a toast?”

“To what? A vacation?” you question with your cup in hand. 

“Hmm…” Nanami weighs, “To…us. And this long-awaited vacation.”

“To us, then” you cheer as your cup rings against Nanami’s.

He’s back to eyeing you; there’s a grin working onto your lips as you push down the sweet liquor, one that brings a liberating wave to wash over Nanami’s mind. He wishes he could see you like this all time, relaxed and free from the stresses of the world. 

A moment of silence falls over the scene, allowing you and Nanami to simply bask in each other’s presence. The sake’s finally settled in his system too, leaving him with a faint haze over his mind. He places his empty cup back onto the wobbling bowl before shifting towards you, his eyelids resting at half-mast. 

“Y’know, I’m really happy you agreed to come with me, Dollface,” he sighs happily, “ I like seeing you calm like this.”

“I could say the same thing to you, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile so much,” you return fondly. 

“But I’m only smiling this much because of you.”

“Pfft, what did I do?” You push off—but Nanami catches the disbelief in your voice with a squint. 

That’s when Nanami's eyes shoot toward your own. He isn’t playing around either, not with the courage coursing through his veins. Was this the moment he’s been waiting three years for? And if it was, would he ruin it by saying too much? So much doubt, so much second thoughts cloud his mind—but when he opens his mouth to speak, it’s all rooted from the depths of his heart.

“So much. You’ve done so much, all your time and care have never gone unnoticed. A-and…I …have so much I wish to tell you, but…I’ll be honest, I’m nervous.”

“Nanami? It’s okay, I’m right here and I’m here to listen.” You aimed to soothe him, your hand breaking through the water to lay against his chest. 

Oh, how he wishes you wouldn’t have done that. His heart’s already throbbing up to his ears, and with you finally laying a hand on him, he might burst right there. But the tranquil aria of your voice brings Nanami back down into his body and a clear mind. 

He clips his bottom lips between his teeth, using the sharp pain to calm the heartbeat you had complete access to. “Doll, I can’t…I can’t keep this up. I’ve um…always…always wanted to tell you that since the day you walked into my office…I knew I wanted to be yours.”

“But I mean…” There’s the logical churning in Nanami’s brain when he enters a space of realism—where he analyses everything down to the letter without regard for how cold it may roll off his tongue. 

And that includes an analysis of himself.

“And I know, what sane woman would wanna be with a man like me? I don’t express much emotion, I’m too technical and I overwork myself. But I promise to be—”

“Kento?” you interrupt, rapping the tips of your fingers against his chest. 

“Yeah?” He sulks with a frown. 

The hand you keep at his chest creeps up to his inflamed features, that same heat meddling in with your palm as you cup his cheek. A gentle turn pits Nanami to face you head-on, but to ease his rushing mind,  you give him a smile paired with the softest of tones.

“Any sane woman might not, but you’re grouping me in a category that doesn’t suit me. I don’t mind for my man to be a thinker, a hard worker. And if he has some trouble expressing himself, it’s okay. I have patience…just like you do.”

Nanami’s hiking a brow at your remarks, “So…you’ve known this entire time?”

“Known is a strong word. But Nanami, we’ve been working together for the past three years. How could I not fall for you when you treat me so kindly? All those lunch and dinner dates, the random gifts that pop up on my desk. I mean, playing it off on clients is sweet and all but the office doesn’t open until ten and the mailman doesn’t reach us until twelve. Still…the effort was sweet.”

“God, I feel so childish!” Nanami groans as he screws his eyes shut to avert your gaze. “Guess I shouldn’t have been so nervous, huh?”

“Yeah but, think of it like this,” you try to shed some light on his woes. “Three years have passed and we know each other better, down to our habits too. I think we were better off waiting rather than jumping in when we first met.”

“But that only leaves one question…” Nanami whispers to himself. He opens his eyes again and finds you as his refuge. Space isn’t a stranger in his mind, not when he’s barely a few inches away from your visage. When he finally gathers his thoughts, the words spill from Nanami’s lips without another second pass. 

“Will you…be my girlfriend, Angel?”

Nanami can hear you swallow down that lump in your throat.  Nerves, that’s the one thing he did calculate for. He’s throwing a relationship on you, without asking if you were anywhere near ready for the commitment. 

But he’s hoping. Nanami’s hoping and praying to any god that exists that you’ll grant him this one selfish wish. 

“Y’know, if we do this, things can’t go back to how they used to be…ever again.”

“I know,” Nanami hums as he brings his thumb to brush along the crest of your cheek.

“A-And, we’ll have to talk about things moving forward.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“But…what if we’re making a mistake?”

Nanami catches your chin with between his thumb and index finger, compelling you to look up into his eyes. They’re gentle, free of their usual cold stare, and superseded by a blossoming twinkle. He’s capturing you in a trance that’s leaving you breathless; breathless and at Nanami’s every whim. 

“If this is a mistake, then I’ll do anything to prove to you that it’s not. There’s no mistake here, that much I know. Whatever you want, whatever it takes…I’ll do it if it means we can be together.”

A pout pushes out onto your lips, touched by Nanami’s dedication and devotion to you. 

“Okay…but what about right now? This isn’t going to end in only a kiss.” 

“Mmm, call it consummating the relationship,” Nanami suggests under his gravitation beneath tension’s heat towards you. His eyes hang low and pin right onto your lips, hinged at the fated words speaking through the air. 

“Well then…guess I’m all yours, Kento. Yes, I wanna be your girlfriend—”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” That truly is all Nanami needs to hear because he didn’t even grant your monologue its deserved spotlight before his lips are sinking against your own. 

He has half a mind to call it the kiss of life, a weight lifting off his shoulders the moment he delves into his long-awaited bliss. It’s as he’s imagined—no, better than that. The soft plush of your lips entices him, pulling him into a game of chase. You pull back and he’s right there for more, and when you push he’s taking it all with a pathetic whimper seeping from behind his clashing teeth.

It isn’t long before his hands dip back into the water for the treasure he’s calling your hips. Hidden behind that towel, but it’s no match for him when he’s holding you now, so close that not even a drop of water could invade. 

And if Nanami had the strength to find the words, he would. But he’s using every ounce of his strength to fight against the water to have you closer. He’s guiding you right onto his lap, your body smothering against his as you straddle him. 

“Can I…take this towel off?” He quizzes between a breath—and he smirks when you conjure up a feverish nod. 

Like a feather in the wind, Nanami’s using a delicate touch to peel away the wall, his eyes growing at the sight of your bare skin in reach. It’s a reward when he yanks the thick cloth from beneath you and off into the dark abyss behind him. 

And now that Nanami’s finally got his hands on you, no force in the universe could move him. 

You’re so soft in his palms, with skin so supple he’s almost afraid of what his touch could do to you. Even with all those precautions, his faith is an unwavering one. You’re too cute for him to abstain from such bliss, especially with three long years of patience behind his belt. 

He simply has to get his hands on you, all over you until he’s become acquainted with every crease, crevice, and curve your body has to offer.

“Let me give you a quick lesson on something, Baby. I think you’ll like it too,” he hums, pulling away from this kiss.

“Oh?” you entertain, tilting your head at Nanami’s new persona. He’s grinning, his smile so wide that you swear it has to be a figment of your imagination. But the way his hands glide across your skin pulls out a vivid reminder in the form of a helpless whimper. 

 “Go ahead, show me everything you know.”

“Erogenous zones. The places where you get extra sensitive. I wanna see how many I can find. Like…right here.” He tends to your breast first, his vast palms carefully skimming along the delicate skin. He’s cupping your tits in his care, using his girth fingers to knead into the pillowy plush.

“How does that feel, Sweetheart?”

Oh, aren’t you the cutest, pulling back from the steady stream of kisses to watch how intentful Nanami is with his words. The hands you brace onto his shoulder pick up a dangerous grip when his fingers feather at your nipples, pinching the dormant buds awake. 

With this newfound audience, Nanami can’t help but perform now. He’s taken to the valley of your chest, his lips simmering against your skin as he sketches the grounds for his act in fluttering pecks. Bit by bit, he’s planting his path, nipping at your skin until his lips brush against your nipple.  

You pinch at your lip again, praying that it grounds you from what Nanami has in store. “Feel so…so good, Ken,” you whine with setting eyes. 

He doesn’t get his way without hearing your mouth, a delicate chirp that melts into a moan. As your eyes crack open once more, he’s sure to meet you with gentle olive irises. 

“That’s my girl. Too pretty to hide when I’m merely teasing you. I’ve got all night with you, remember?”

That’s as much as a reminder to himself too, he has all night, two days, and the rest of his days to explore you. But already he’s missed out on so much time, so he hopes you’ll excuse him for the rush now.

The rush of his back finally traveling past your tweaked ties and down to l the small of your back, his burly hands dressing your delicate body like a corset. If he remembers from his days back in university, the back is a special place. It’s where your spine can be found, where your curves take shape, but there’s something else here that Nanami can’t quite put his finger on.

Until he does.

His fingers dust right over the divots in your back, those two dimples waiting for attention. He remembers now, the insane levels of sensitivity hidden in plain sight. He doesn’t want to give away his ruse, but for all you know, he’s merely inches away from grabbing onto your ass.

So he does it, delicately allowing a few fingers to slip past the water and sink into the pert plump flesh, leaving only his thumbs to fill out those precious jewels of your lower back. The pads of his thumbs lay teasing strides as a ploy until he’s located those hidden cords of nerves. 

He can’t wait anymore, softly pulsing his thumbs against the dips, solely for his ears to be graced by the prettiest of chords: your heavy gasps drumming into the air.

“This is an overlooked one. Known as the lumbar, but it’s simply your lower back. By using a liiiitle pressure like this—”

“Kennn…h-hold on, that’s so…Ohmy–!” 

That’s the gasp he’s looking for, the satisfaction parading itself somewhere deep inside Nanami. The jolt wrecking through your body only brought you right into his hands and pinned against his chest.  His lips take to your ears for his own bliss, hiding a sadist smirk behind his encouraging words. 

“Now, now, those nasty words don’t suit you, Angel. Can’t you find anything else to say with that pretty mouth of yours?”

“B-But, I—“

Another slip along your back dimples sends you reeling against Nanami, your head dropping to fill the crook of his neck.

“Nanami! That’s …t-too mmuch for me,” your plea falling on deaf ears.

“Oh Baby, did you forget who I am? The body…this body….your body…there’s so many ways to touch you, tease you, make you cum without getting remotely close to your pussy…’nd I’m just getting started.”

Nanami veers himself enough for his eyes to be cast upon you, his hazel hues scanning over your fucked out face; those eyes fluttering at half-mast, your lips broken fleeing hot pants chest. He can’t help but soothe the pain with pleasure, painting the flustered tips of your ear in deft pecks.

“You just so happen to land yourself a sex therapist for a man.”

It’s a truth that Nanami doesn’t let you absorb, not while he’s playing with you like this. His thumbs taunt your lower back and his hands strapped along your ass pull your hips into transit, rutting against him for a sliver of relief. 

But Nanami’s grown so desperate that he’s slouching—permitting his back to slip against the bath’s wall if it meant he could plug your pleas with his bulge. 

And wasn’t his theory proved right on the first try?

Because the second his hips curl right up under you, he’s gasping at how the lips of your cunt drag against the drenched towel—and along his poor cock. So much fervor, so much passion is driving your hips to rock like this, forcing the towel to lick at your clit.

But…that’s his new job. A new task that comes with his promotion—and one that he’s dying to commence. 

“Ken,” his name highlighted behind your moans.

He gets the chance to watch you reach out for him, your hands lacing around the nape of his neck and pulling him close. So close that your foreheads rest against each other and all you can do is dress each other’s mouth with aimless pants. 

“You want more, don’t you?” He chuckles. 

And you could respond, but you allow your lips to deliver the message to him loud and clear. Back to that familiar cadence, your lips falling into a dance made for you. But when your tongue dips into his mouth for the first time, Nanami swears he could cum right then and there. 

Your tongue, velvety and so kind, traces along his own—riding up along every curve and back down to his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” is all Nanami can mutter…because…fuck. Such a dirty word, but his mind’s running on nothing but the lust clouding his core, and rushing to bully his cock with relentless pangs. 

“Kento…is that?...” you giggle, breaking from his lips when something hard perks up between your legs. 

“That’s what you do to me, Baby. ‘m so hard already, waiting for you to be mine.”

“Aww, but I am yours, Honey,” you avow, raking your nails along the deep chisels of his back. Against his lips, you whisper such a lulling coo that pulls at Nanami’s restraint, using the exact words he didn’t need to hear. 

“So…what are you waiting for?”

Nanami kisses his teeth, sparking a devious grin to claim his mouth.

“Part three of this lesson.”

A hand of his snakes between your bodies, twisting and tugging his towel out from under him until he’s free. 

“Another erogenous zone, huh? Can I…try to find yours?” 

Nanami could never deny you, who was he to start now of all times? He decides to help you out by laying a grip around your wrist, leading your hand down between your bodies

When your hand laces around his pudgy length, he’s gritting his teeth at your bestowing grip. So loose but cradles his cock with such care he could almost shed a tear. 

But all you do is lug your lax fist up and down, singly to tease Nanami of what could come to pass. And you do it all without failing to keep your sights aligned with his own. So, just this once he’s letting you take the reins. 

“Go on, I’ll even give you extra points if you know how to handle it.” His hands float back up to your hips and he finally relaxes—his body stills, his mind blanks, and Nanami inhales a breath what he deems to be tranquility at its finest.

He’s resting in your care, closing his eyes and allowing himself to feel everything—every beat of his heart, the waves crashing against his chest, the stirring of nerves brewing in his stomach. 

That alone grows, its futile persistence slowly consuming Nanami. He’s touched himself so many times before, but it all fails to compare when he has you working on his behalf. It’s more than he can handle.  

And he’s too keen on hiding it either, Nanami’s head lolling back when your hand gains fervency. Your wrist works sloppy twirls around the belled crown of his cock that coaxes a livid heat to rip through his nerves. 

“J-Just like that, niiice ‘nd slow…g-get the tip too—fuck!” 

Your lips cling to his exposed bobbing Adam’s apple, littering his skin with kisses and taunts. 

“Aww, so sensitive, Ken. And ‘m only touching you exactly how you want me to,”

“Fu-fuuuck, that’s…d-don’t squeeze down like that o-or–!” He’s barely huffing out. His chest’s struggling to keep up, relying on labored breaths to feed his lungs what bits of air he gathers.

Only a few minutes into the relationship, Nanami’s already pushed to the edge, his body teetering the dangerous line of pain and pleasure. It feels so good to have you touch him, but the heft of his impending high has him seeing stars each time he blinks. It’s a line of pain and bliss that has tears welling in Nanami’s eyes, his broken mind split on an outcome that dooms him either way.

“Ha-Hah! Baby, please! I don’t wanna cum yet, slow down!” He’s sobbing with hands clipping to your waist. His nails sink into your plushy skin, marking you with a bruising belt of crimson crescents. 

“But you’re so close, Ken!”

“I know, I know, but I can’t cum before you do, Angel. Wouldn’t feel right to me.”

His hand finds a new hold along your wrist, pulling your worked hand through the water and pressing along the bulging ripples of his chest. 

“Besides…All that sake’s got me craving something so sweet. Think you can help me out with that, Honey?”

“Mm-hm…’course, Ken.”

“Good.” He hums as his gaze falls over the salacious scene’s background: the wooden deck. He’s also keen on calling the towel he freed from you back into play, tugging the soaked cotton towel across the deck. 

Patting his hand atop the deck, Nanami ushers you to join his next lesson, “C’mon. Bend over and keep that pretty ass in the air for me, alright?”

If there’s something Nanami knows about you, it’s your ear for direction. Every task, every favor, and anything he’s asked of you during the past three years was always completed beyond expectation.

And this was no different. 

The arch you take on is nothing short of heavenly, your face hidden behind the blossoming spread of your ass. “Beautiful,” he ponders aloud, his wandering hands rowing along the luscious junctures of your curves. “I still need your help, Darling. Spread yourself fr’ me.”

He oversees the hesitancy that claims you, your trembling hands reaching around the globes of your ass. Ever so gently you pull yourself apart before him, only for a whimper to bring all your hard work crumbling down. 

“But Ken…that’s so—fuck!”

Obiviously you’re nervous, he’s asked you to reveal yourself like it’s something so easy. As his newfound position entitles, he’s supposed to ease your woes, not enforce more than what the world already dishes out. That’s why Nanami takes a thumb right over your clit, drawing loose rings around the timid bud. He’s so painstakingly slow too, ensuring that every nerve is caught beneath his tantric trance. 

“That’s so what, Baby? You don’t have to be nervous with me, just wanna make you feel good.” And that’s a sworn promise of his, the kiss he places onto your ass brandishes it as such. 

“Take your time, ‘m right here.”

Words have power, and he’s witnessing the magic with naked eyes. Your hands, once trembling and timid, now pries yourself apart for Nanami’s sake. 

“How’s that?” you press, tilting your head to find Nanami’s hidden silhouette. 

“Perfect. So pretty too, Baby. Oh, look at how cute your clit is! Mmm, I know you’re sweet too, aren’t you, Darling?”

What else had to be said, Nanami’s really taken a liking to your pussy, the way your clit drinks up his touch with jaunty throbs. He can’t ignore that blatant fact that you’re dripping into his impressions. He could take some credit for the sticky mess unfolding between your legs, but he’s more interested in furthering his role.

So it’s no wonder when Nanami can feel himself drawing nearer, his heavy eyes guiding him to meet your splayed cunt within mere inches. 

“Tell me, y’know that this cute clit of yours is another one of those erogenous zones ‘m teaching you about, right?” He breathes out against your bare cunt. 

“Y-Yeah…” you huff, biting at your lip. 

“Good girl. Let me see how long it takes to make a mess out of you.”

A man starved, that’s all Nanami is as he falls victim to your displayed cunt. He nurses you with a pout, granting him the exclusivity of tending to your clit. He places a soft kiss as a foundation, melting all your woes beneath his supple curves of a ruined grin.

He seals the spry bulb between his lips, his purling jaw working to bring your clit to its blushing bulbous swell. 

He’s allowing his tongue to slip onto the scene, the slicked palette pedaling kind, short strokes to the pink pearl. His heavy tongue drifts along the raw nerves softly, curling just at your swelling hood to tease. 

Between a thin stare, Nanami’s thinking of how cute it is that your plump clit dances along with his tongue. It takes two to dance and Nanami couldn’t have asked for a finer partner. Whenever he takes the time to twirl, swirl, and nudge at you, he’s met with a grand pirouette that laces around his tongue. 

“Fuck!” the curse ripping from your puffy lips. It feels good, that much he knows thanks to your melodies. But if only you knew the discipline it’s taking Nanami from not burying himself between the fat mounds of your cunt. 

You’re like silk against his slicked muscle, those soft folds of yours sewed along his curled tongue. He can’t even begin to account for how many times he’s traced at the pulsing hem of your folds, nipped at your fluttering hole, even the number of kisses he’s tongued out of your clit, all to pull out that saccharine stream of ambrosia from your slit. So sweet, so sticky, exactly what he needs to soothe his mind from the edge it sits on. 

He hears your cries too, your sobs, the whimpers, and the need to cum blended with each word. Nanami wants to soothe you too, feed your numbed mind kind words of reassurance. But greed’s got the better of him, the sin staining his very tongue as he indulges in your honey. 

But when he catches the way your hands dig into the plush of your ass, he’s wincing at the sight.  

He’s also keen to that hand of yours drifting dangerously close to his canvas. He’s aware of your game and allows for that stubborn digit of yours to nip at your slit. 

Those subtle pulses lead to you sinking in a little deeper, a certain detail he can’t let slip for too long.

“Am I not enough for you, Honey?” Go on, show me how you touch yourself.”

His chocolate hues break wide at how greedily your puffy hole envelopes your finger, swallowing each sloppy stride you pump into your core. But that’s all it is—cheap, sloppy work.

Somehow and someway, your body’s enjoying it, the addition of your finger bringing shivers to rake across your skin. 

And while Nanami isn’t a jealous man, he’s resenting that touch of yours with a nasty sneer. 

He could shy away, let his mouth help guide you through that high begging to crash through your body. You’re working so hard—but Nanami works harder. 

The longest finger he has pecks at your busy hole. He doesn’t think much of it at first—until he catches your hole latching onto his teasing scheme. Before he can go on about how much of a mess you’ve made out of yourself, a dumbfounded awe strikes him. He’s able to attest to it, how his digit is being suckered inside you. 

“Oh fu—knew you still needed my help…but we can work together too.” He’s chuckling to conceal that crack in his voice. 

It’s a slow, wet draw that has you stretching, gasping to be stuffed by the oblivious girth of his finger. But it’s so wet that your pussy and your mouth have to squeal out against his deepening reach. 

“K-Kennn, fuck! Right there!” You gasp, yielding your endeavors at Nanami’s introduction. 

“Now I didn’t say to stop, Angel. Keep going, pretend like I’m not even here.”

And he means every word, he’s waiting for you to pick that sloppy pace, one that he challenges with the slow drags of his own. You lack the grace he strives for, the same grace that brings him right to your sweet spot without fail.

“O-ooh shit, Kento!” Your hips jerk from his ministrations, but he isn’t letting your sobs distract him from such a discovery. 

“Hm? Is that your spot, Honey? Right here?” He taunts, sending his ruined digit to thrash against the stiffening bundle of nerves.

“‘M so close, Ken! Plea-Please don’t stop!”

Don’t stop? Don’t stop? He had no plans of stopping, yet your body seems to cry out against your compelling demands. Why, Nanami wants to bring about the lush high you deserve, whereas your hips suddenly picked up such a nasty habit of jerking away from his mouth has him thinking otherwise. 

“I told you already, you don’t have to beg me. It’s right there, hm? Let it all out for me.”

He tags a hand at your rebelling hips and pulls you right onto his coiled tongue, where defeat lies along the horizon. He relies on his lips,  now plump and plush, to tack onto the sputtering bulb of your clit and melt away all that prudish tension with a kiss. 

Such a kiss allows him to trace over your spry hood, to roll out the glossy pearl in riveting tides. And when paired with his pummeling finger, Nanami can only count the seconds it takes for your body to crumble.

Nanami draws him back exclusively to watch your beautiful demise. He keeps his hand at your hips, kneading at the grip he used to restrain you out of pity. It’s an honor for him to be by your side, aiding you through what he deems to be a perilous high. 

He’s so endowed to your allure, that Nanami can’t keep his thoughts all to himself—no, he utterly has a duty to share all he’s thinking with you, even how pretty you look in the face of ecstasy. 

“Look at you, wanted to cum ‘nd I did it all for you…give it to me, c’mon, Angel.”

Your hand can still be found in his, clutching at his palm through every tremor, every sob, and the heavy sacrifice of your breath. He’s right there with you, decorating your skin with soiled pecks until your breath is caught and steady.  

“Good?” He checks, his hand skimming along your skin. 

“Oh, Ken…th-that was really good!” 

“Well then…can you give me one more?”

That’s when you finally turn around to face him, gems of water adorning his body. Your eyes hinge on a particular sight though, his cock standing up at a slight curve.

Tan with the pretty cream hues of his shaft that contrast his own skin—and the blushing pink tip of his cock by miles. Vibrant veins line his every inch, lacing around his girth without fail. The underside’s heavy too, defined by the contours that flush out his cock. And of course the tip’s fat, what else did you expect, the blushing pink heart that tops him off pecks at you, his cock primed by tease. 

Nanami’s touched by how quick he’s got your attention, and he plans of keeping your time well-spent. That’s why he’s swift to bestow a coddling grip around his, feeding himself with a few lazy pumps for your explicit viewing pleasure. 

“But…I forgot to bring condoms—didn’t think we’d get this far. We don’t have to–”

“No,” you grin, passing a sinister glint back to Nanami, “It’s fine.”

Oaths spill from his lips the moment you grant him such a blessing. He’s already nuzzled against you, preparing his fragile mind with what lies beyond your hole. 

“Oh, you got so wet for me, fuck,” the words he’s mumbling aren’t even made for your ears—he’s raving straight to your pussy. He’s dragging his slicked tip through your folds, up and down, tracing at your slit with lazy nips. His prodding bellhead comes to smother your tight hole in messy kisses, lathering up a rich foamy web that’s waiting to be destroyed. 

“I’ll be gentle, so be nice to yourself too ‘nd don’t rush,” Nanami hums as he hunches over your body. 

He’s keeping his hips loose as he sends his cock eight inches deep. Eight inches that he’s chosen to feed to you through kind snaps of his hips. Your puffy entrance suckles at the slit of his cock, drinking up every drop of his precum before he’s hidden inside your walls.

“Fuh–Angel, t-that’s just th-the tip, al-alright? Got a litt-ttle more to go,” He gasps. But that’s to serve as a reminder to him that he has more to go–which means Nanami has to grasp onto his composure for just a little while longer.

The urge’s there, but why rush when you feel so good right here? Warming up his tip with silky pulses that test Nanami’s resolve. The hands he’s chained to your hips grow heavy, bearing a harsh grip once he’s glued his hips to the thick plush of your ass.

“Gonna move now, Angel. Tell me if it’s too much right now, ‘kay?”

Nanami’s so ingrained with your suckling heat that he almost doesn’t want to pull out. If you keep squeezing him like that too, he knows he could in a matter of minutes. 

But then a thought laps through his mind—he’s wearing a rare honor of delving into your pussy bare. 

And that’s a chance he’s not willing to risk.

Slowly, his hips reel from you, stealing back those girthy inches from your greedy walls. He darts his eyes down to the sight, his cock bore with your slick. So messy what a few minutes can do, and it’s left him with a fixture for sore eyes. 

Creamy, thick, and yet…it’s not enough. No, it’s not enough for Nanami, he needs you creaming a nice cloudy ring around the base of his cock.

Since that’s the task he’s chasing, Nanami doesn’t hesitate to seal himself back into you, finding a kind rhythm to alleviate your walls to his bulling girth. Every roll of his hips brings him closer to his goal, you’re easing up around him. He’s almost inspired by your resolve to take him to feed you just a little more of a tempo, his hips catching wind of your welcoming advances.

Your voice breaks his concentration. “Ken?” 

“Ye-yeah, Honey?”

“M-More…I can take it, Baby.”

He had no business hearing that fall from your lips, that request only makes Nanami throb. He’s all for it now, reeling his hips back until the very tip of his cock threatens to leave you. The filthy rut he’s fallen into reads through your ass, towing hypnotic waves to ripple through your skin. 

You feel so good around him, your satin-like walls snuggling his girth. He can feel you working at his own demise, all that squeezing feeding the knot in his stomach. Oh, how he wants to cum, to paint you in his seed—but that’s not an honor yet deserved, not while your orgasm has yet to present itself. 

He’s so hellbent on being so kind to you that every bit of his body acts in accordance towards his wish. The thick head he delivers to, the girth of his cock keeps your greedy walls at bay, and the swell of his heavy balls babies your clit with light taps of rapture. 

He’s almost forgotten where you two were—outside with neighbors under a kilometer away. But who’s Nanami to stop those delicious moans from leaving your mouth? You’re singing him a song of  how well he’s pleasing you, how deep he sends his cock to reach. He’s been busy at your sweet spot for sometime, painting the nerves in his scent, in his kisses, and in his fervor. 

“That’s it, stay with me. Y’re taking me so damn good too, Angel. Squeezing down on me like that…

“Fuck, Ken..I-my legs…can’t keep them up anymore…”

Before Nanami can even offer some advice, your body’s already given up the hope of support. Your legs stretch out along the towel, forcing you to lay on your tummy. 

“Hm, don’t worry about it, just lay there all pretty and take this dick, okay?”

Of course, Nanami’s found a solution, as he always does. This solution prompts him to trap you beneath his world when planting the flat of his hands beside your head, his hunkering body stretching over you. He slots his chest along your back, leaving his hips to break away from you. 

All your curves, all your breaths, all your whimpers and your moans were his own when he’s this close. He can feel everything, even the way your walls flutter around him with this newfound angle. 

He gives you time to adjust while he gets to explore you, his eyes searching for where to lay his artwork. 

Right there, along your shoulder, he’s already imagining all the kisses and bites claiming your soft skin. 

“Tell me…” he mutters between a trail of pecks along your shoulder. “You know what I love about you?”

“N-No…what’s that?” you quiz, levering your chin back to find Nanami hard at work. 

His earthy hues fall prey to your gaze. He’s compelled to abandon his work to favor you, the answer to your question dribbling from his mouth. 

“Oh, what do I love about my sweet baby? It’s how vocal you are, always telling me what’s on your mind. Just like right now…” he smirks, “Even though I can’t see, you always seem to tell me  how deep I am…and how much deeper I can go. Just…liiike this…”

A lazy drive of his hips sends his cock to deliver a wispy kiss right to your cervix, coaxing your tummy to cave in against the towel.

“Oooh shit! Ken! Fuck!!”, your gaping mouth mewls.

Nanami simply grins at how fast your hands ball up the towel between your fists, he’s proven right. Not that he cares all that much, bearing the privilege of hearing your sweet cry is all the reward he needs. 

“Oh I know, Baby, I know,” his voice carrying a suave chord, “I’m gonna be nice, fuck you right too.”

A man of his word he is, Nanami Kento. 

“KenKenKen! ‘M gonna fucking cum again!” you sob, bucking your hips up against him.

“Again? That’s my girl. Gonna cum on my dick, right? I’ll make it a good one too, don’t you worry!”

He’s working on your behalf, grinding his hips along the swell of your ass. He can’t go any deeper than this, but he’ll admit that he’s neglected your sweet spot for quite some time now, Blame it on the feverish heat subscribing to his body, but he’s ready to focus his all onto you.

That includes kissing at your sweet spot with the head of his cock. Rolling his hips ever so carefully, sketching along those inflamed nerves with buttery pecks, he’s ready to make you cum—hard. Harder than what any toy, your fingers, and any man ever could.

Though, it’s when he slips up and finds your cervix—that’s what brings about your downfall. His ill-minded finding brought about deep-rooted tremors to wreck your core, capturing your entire body with a hellish wrath. Your walls clench at Nanami, cursing him for being such a fate before you.

Yet, all he can do is cheer you on, chuckling at how his efforts brought him to a place of bliss. 

“That’s it, cream all on me, Baby. Fuck, trying to make me cum too, aren’t you?”

“Ken, I-I—ohmygod!”

“Shhh, I got you, Sweetheart,” he’s humming along your cheek, “Come back down to me…we’re not done yet.”

“We’re not??!”

Nanami hides the sly grin on his face as he turns back to the awaiting pool of water behind you both.

“Of course not. We came all the way out here, did you think I wasn’t going to take you in the water too, Baby?”

“Ken…I…I don’t think I can cum anymore!” 

“Oh yes, you can! You didn’t even squirt for me yet! But if you don’t do it tonight, I’ll make you squirt tomorrow.”

Selfish, so utterly selfish of him to try and pull another round out of you, but his tempered patience challenges this rare spout of excitement. For in simply a few hours, Nanami’s become addicted to you—your lips, your body, your moans, even watching you cum at his hand, he’s addicted to it all.

“One…one more, ‘kay?” you wager, a look of your glossy doe eyes consuming his sights.

“Okay! That—”

“But…” you swiftly intervene, your weary hand searching for rest along his thigh. 

Nanami’s eyes follow your lithe hand, tracking the lazy path it takes up his body. He’s still waiting to hear the rest of your deal, but how can he when your hand trails up his thigh, curving up around the base of his cock and up towards his flexing abdomen. 

“Ken, baby?” The melodic call of his name breaks the trance, Nanami’s sights meeting your own.

“Y-Yeah?”

Nanami’s eyes light up at the smile adorning your face.

“I wanna ride you. It’s the least I can do for makin’ you work on your vacation.”

He’s gawking at you. Dumbly too. His mouth surrenders to that gap and he merely stares at you. That’s all he can do to distract himself from the mind-numbing rush of blood filling out every inch of his cock. 

Because thanks to you…he’s painfully hard again too. 

“Aww, you like that idea? You’re already making a mess, Ken.”

He looks down. You’re right. All this excitement has him dripping aimlessly, the back of your thigh covered in patchy drops of his precum. 

But he can’t bring himself to move, not when he’s caught between a place of utter embarrassment and pitiful arousal. Should he apologize? Should he wipe it off?

As you crawl back onto your hands and knees, suddenly his cock’s sitting homely between the soft, thick globes of your ass, Nanami doesn’t know where he found the restraint to not paint your skin white right then and there.

And you have all the confidence to taunt him now too? Taking advantage of his dumbstruck silence to roll your hips against him, stroking his weeping cock ever so slowly.

“C’mon, Ken, I’m waiting. Don’t you wanna go back in the water and relax…with me? We can all that fun we’ve been talking about too.”

He’s stuck on the sight. Up and down, you’re dragging back on his cock, leaving the white-hot tip raw and aching; leaving those portly veins to bloat and flourish along his length; leaving the spill of precum to dangerous tread behind the lines of milky white. 

“Fuck” Nanami’s voice rattles out at last. “I might—no, if we do…I'm so sorry…Sweetheart, I’m sorry but I’m not gonna last long!”

“That’s okay,” you coo, “We can go nice and slow just to calm you down.”

Shamefully, Nanami nods at your assurance. As to how you ended up with a hand over him is shameful—but a well-played card. 

Slowly, he descends back into the haze of steam, the water welcoming his body once more. He sits himself at the bottom of the pool, the water coming up just above his navel. 

In the corner of his eye, Nanami carefully watches as you slip back onto the water and crawl into his sprawled lap to straddle him. Your arms drape along his broad shoulders and he’s already reaching for your hips with hungry hands.

Your forehead presses up against his own, sealing  Nanami in a spell he couldn’t imagine breaking from.

“Gonna go slow, okay?” You whisper, your hips drifting above the pink crown of his cock. 

Though he’s been buried to the hilt of your heat, it’s still foreign to Nanami’s mind what it means to have you split over him. He doesn’t know that to have your pretty pussy split and sputtering dumb means to carve your walls into his shape, his size, to mold you around every single detail that comes with a man of his caliber. 

And that upright curve he’s donning too. 

The sweltering gush that your walls paint Nanami behind has him reeling beyond comparison. He’s so desperate too, the urge to snap you down to his tensed thighs teases the very hands he keeps pinned to your luring hips.

But he can’t forget that it’s an effort you make to accommodate him, laggardly drowning your poor hole beneath the sinful weight of his length. 

Taking him like this, it’s overwhelming to have something so thick, so hot, and stupidly twitching out of sheer excitement fill you like it’s easy. 

Yet, you do it anyway with that cute break between your lips, gasping like something so shocking has your attention. You do it with furrowed brows, confounded as to how you’ve ended up gaping around his fat cock out of the kindness of your heart.

It’s all so shrewd, but your sacrifice makes everything worthwhile once Nanami’s immersed in your spitting cunt once more. 

He’s right back to relish how your walls pamper every bit of his cock in those flirting embraces. He’s right back to gritting his teeth, finding it in himself to bear that persuasive hold you’ve laid before him. 

Nanami has it in him to cry out, to rattle off hymns of how well that sloppy pussy of yours got him—but all he can conjure up is the will to pin a sloppy kiss on your lips. 

His mind might be fleeting, but Nanami’s learning you too are a woman of your word; slow is an understatement for the mesmerizing toll your hips adopt. It’s a mesmerizing toll that’s slow enough to have the likes of Nanami—a man of rigid logic—gasping for air. 

You’re still squeezing him, but it’s more aligned with your intentions now rather than the nerve of taking him on like before. It’s all so tedious, having your hips roll all the way to the top,  dangling at the tip, only for your walls to lather up the fat pink bulb in gummy kisses. 

All the teasing has his cock threatening to slip out, cursing your cunt in twitching for stealing back the shared bliss. 

“Oh fuck—Wha…What are you doing to me, Angel?” He’s whimpering against your lips, and your smirk catches every single word. 

You feign innocence with him, pressing a merciful peck onto his quivering frown. “What are you talking about, Honey? I’m taking my sweet time with you, just like I said I was.”

That’s what you say, but Nanami’s aware that there’s more to your claim than what meets his ear. If you were really taking your sweet time with him, why is he spiraling down this pit of ravishing piety? 

You’re drawing out whimpers he himself never heard before, his jaw slacked by the sudden song on his heart. You’re only riding him, but can you feel how every bit of his body surrenders to you? You’re following through on your word, yet here Nanami is, chasing after your swiveling hips with mindless bucks of his own. 

You’re too clever at having him dance in your palm, and that’s something Nanami can’t help but plot against. He isn’t one to challenge the powers that be—but something about this moment taunts the very chemistry of his psyche.

He has to even the playing field, though, in his current state of writhing and plight, all he has is his hands.

For his ruse to taste success, Nanami’s hands can be found bound to a particular parlour of your back—the lumbar, or…your lower back. He’s sure you’ve forgotten about his speech from earlier, but he meant every word. For what he possessed in his hands was both the power and knowledge to have you cum without any real need for penetration.

And while that holds true…he does have you on his cock right now, working so hard to relieve him. He’s musing over the idea, hungry to see  how hard you’d cum if he picks up his teasing.

His thumbs slot themselves back along those dimples he’s grown fond of, his sinking digits shattering the powerful strides of your hips. 

“Oh—You’re back to that again?!” You jolt, your hips seized by his mischievous ploy. 

Nanami’s drinking in your exasperation with a smirk. “Told you, there’s so many ways to make you cum. 

He’s bracing for the torturous words you have in store for his brash rebuttal.  That’s the fate he’s anticipated to befall him. 

He wasn’t, however, prepared for your encircling arms to pull him closer, your bodies simmering against one another. He didn’t anticipate the kisses you’d place at his gaping lips, gentle and sweet. And there’s no possible way that Nanami could have orchestrated the words set to leave your lips.

“Oh yeah? Then let’s cum together, Ken.”

“Are…you close?” he whispers softly.

“Mhm,” you nod, “And I know you are too.”

Nanami’s taken aback by your tentative nature. You know his habits, mannerisms, and now how dangerously close he was to spilling in your womb. He had the strength to press you up along the pool walk to finish himself off, but where’s the fun in such bold novelties?

Because if he did follow through on that thought, he’d be missing out on bearing witness to your eyes screwing shut when you drop your hips a little too hard, bringing his cock right back to your sweet spot.

“K-Ken, I’m–!” That’s all he needs to hear, not when your face paints him a clear picture. With your eyes rolling back into your skull, your forehead sunken along the crook of his neck, and that breathless sob warming his skin—you were right at your peak.  

It doesn’t help his cause that you get all the more sensitive, that minor mistake throwing your whole body into the heat of chaos. You’re ruining him in flittering clenches, pulling every ounce of Nanami’s strength to the surface of his skin. 

He’s seeing stars in his eyes, white patches seizing his vision as your poor pussy stutters around him. He knows what’s due to follow—that all-powerful weight that pins him down and forces that tragic cycle to crash down on Nanami. 

His legs are subdued by a trifling rip of nerve, rendering Nanami’s reprisal futile. He’s going to cum, that’s the pill he has to swallow. But he can’t begin to fathom that he’s going to cum inside you. 

Sure, it’s a thought he’s paid some time too—every day for the last three years. But now that he’s faced with that want, he can’t help but rebuke it completely. 

He’s reaching between your bodies to grab at his cock, wedging himself from your heat with a sob. You were so good to him, even better around him and now he’s forced to bear his orgasm alone while your own courses through your veins. 

“‘m…c-cum—cumming! Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Baby!” He seethes, clenching his jaw when his overworked body is faced with the lone choice of release. A release that has opal hues spitting from his twitching slit, thick ropes of white staining the water. 

He’s devastated by a hitching breath that leaves his stomach caved and his burly chest shuddering for air. Nanami’s head is sent to roll, dropping back as he’s doing his best to hold back that woeful moan. 

And he’s still going, still tainting the water with his definition of healing. The hot spring was healing, but your pussy was the epitome of rejuvenation. 

“Hey,” Nanami’s hitching voice rasps as he strokes the small of your back, “Still with me?”

All you can deliver is a sheepish nod, your arms still clinging to Nanami for support. And he’s got you, his hands cradling your delicate body through the reeling fatigue that comes after such bliss. 

He’s exhausted, worked raw and to the bone, but Nanami still finds the energy to pull both you and himself out of the water and into the bedroom. 

With just the indirect rays of light from the hallway, Nanami gently lays you to rest upon the vast face of the bed. You look so peaceful like this, nodding off with a faint grin plastered to your puffy lips. He finds himself inclined towards you, hovering above you as he dusts the back of his hand past your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, “You did so good for me, so proud of you! I’ll take care of the rest, don’t worry–”

“Ken?” your hoarse voice croaks out. 

Nanami immediately gives in to you, concern dressing his face with knitted brows. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

Your hand creeps towards his own, your fingers weaving around his own. He can tell you have a question on your mind, it’s begging to come out too. 

“It’s okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well…can I still come to work Monday?”

Nanami’s eyes soften as he peers over to you. Even in this darkness, he can make out the frown playing at your lips. His hand comes to soothe all your worries, cupping your cheek with his thumb and stroking the highs of your cheek. 

“Of course, Baby. You can come in, leave early, whatever you want.”

“So then…can I still work with you?” 

That question troubles Nanami, striking him inaudible as he cautiously considers his answer. If he had things his way, Nanami wanted you to go shopping, to spoil yourself with spa days and classy cafes. He wanted you to enjoy the bliss of free time, while he worked to ensure all your dreams could come true. 

But then again, he didn’t have it his way. 

He has you to consider now, and if working with him brought you joy, who was he to ruin that?”

“Well…I want you to go have fun, go shopping, go to the spa. But that’s what I want. I also love having you at the office with me too so…if that’s something you really want, then…”

“It is! Now that we’ve figured that much out…let’s go.”

You make an attempt to stand, only for Nanami to catch your trembling body within his care. “Um..where are we going?” He asks, draping an arm around your waist.

“To shower. I may be tired, but I think I can handle a shower with you…and only a shower, Kento.”

“That’s fine by me. But, since you’re up…we should also plan out what we’re doing tomorrow. I was thinking we leave here at 9:30 and—”

“Kennn,” you draw out, “It’s vacation. Let things happen, okay?”

He muses at your words, “Let things…happen, you say?” 

Let things happen? That’s the kind of advice he prefers to steer clear of. And yet, it’s gotten Nanami to achieve his wildest dream—turning his pretty assistant into his girlfriend. He steals one more glance at you, a look that fetches a smile to grace his timid features. 

“Then, we’ll let things happen, won’t we, Darling?”

[kitten4sannie]

imprint

pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…” 

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…” 

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 

-

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…” 

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?” 

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…” 

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?” 

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?” 

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?” 

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 

-

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.” 

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 

“I do…” 

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.” 

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…” 

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?” 

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”  

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 

“Yes, please.” 

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[stylesispunk]

'Hands in the hair of somebody named Marcus'

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary: the cursed blood of Geta and Caracalla runs through your veins sealing your fate. However, the General Acacius is willing to fight for you.

w.c: 5k>

warnings: angst, violence, power imbalance,and fluff.

a/n: I had this one in my drafts but after watching gladiator ii twice. I had to finish it and write about my beloved General Acacius because he deserves it. I hope you like it. This may have a part ii depending on its performance. PLEASE DON'T BE MEAN. Reblogs and comments are always. appreciated 💌

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe in, breath out.

There was it, the rattle breathing inside Marcus Acacius lungs. The way life has turned out for him felt like cuts all over his skin.

Sometimes he felt he could even breath from how bloody his hands were. How dirty his name felt to his own honor. How salty his tears felt down his cheeks every night. Every time he closed his eyes at night, the screams pierced through his ears.

Mothers mourning their children.

Men mourning their wives.

Families destroyed.

All because of him.

All because he must have served those two spoiled kids so called emperors of Rome.

And he still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of you, someone so pure and kind was cursed to share the same blood as them.

Every time he came back to the city. He witnessed on first hand, how badly you were treated by them.  The laughs, the humiliation, the segregation, and how your voice had been silenced just for you to be unwillingly part of a legacy that felt like your back being split in two.

Marcus was aware of the adoration people felt for you, how your kindness had reached to every single person in the empire. People loved you, but you were nothing more than a puppet under their fingers.

And he felt pity for you.

He could see the way your eyes seemed lost in the arena, in the way your hands trembled where Geta or Caracalla looked at you with disgust when you didn't approve of the madness they had arisen under their control.

You were the opposite of them.

You were Kind.

Kind as no one had been on here for so many years. You shared the same dream of Marcus Aurelio.

An empire for the world and a refuge for those in need.

and Marcus looked at you with tenderness in his heart from afar.

Most of the time you didn't acknowledge him. He knew you weren't really fond of him or the idea of him leading armies to claim cities under the glory of Rome.

For you, he was just a general repeating the same cycle of madness.

And you didn't acknowledge him until Geta slapped you on front of him for not showing your gratitude towards him after his returning from battle.

The sting lingered on your cheek after his slap, not from the force but from the humiliation of it. The room fell silent, the tension arose like flames to the fire. Geta and Caracalla, with their arrogant disdain, seemed to punish your perceived disobedience.

But Marcus? His expression shifted, subtle, yet profound. His sharp gaze, so often unreadable, burned with an intensity that wasn’t anger but something close to defiance. He stepped forward, his towering presence demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“Enough,” Marcus said, his voice calm and gentle, the command laced with quiet fury. The word carried weight, a warning not to be ignored. Your brothers exchanged a glance, clearly displeased but unwilling to challenge the general directly. They turned and left, leaving muttered curses in the air.

The room fell silent once again, and you found yourself standing alone with General Acacius. Your hand hovering your cheek, the skin still warm from Geta’s punishment. You didn’t look up at first, embarrassed not just by the slap but by the realization that Marcus had witnessed it. You had worked so hard to ignore him, to keep him at a distance, but now, there was no avoiding him.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said softly, his voice a startling contrast to the authority he had wielded moments ago.

You finally raised your eyes to meet his, expecting pity but finding something else entirely different, something softer. “It doesn’t matter,” you murmured, attempting to dismiss it, but he shook his head.

“It does,” Marcus said, taking a step closer. “You shouldn’t have to endure this, least of all from them. They’re your blood”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw him not as the general who commanded armies in your brothers’ name but as a man standing apart from their cruelty. He wasn’t like them, not entirely.

And perhaps, you thought, he never had been.

Your gaze lingered on Marcus for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn’t. Your throat tightened, and you turned away, moving to the window to avoid the weight of his attention.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, though the words came out softer than you intended. “You’ve done enough by speaking against them. They will get under your skin for it.”

Marcus hesitated, his heavy footsteps echoing as he approached you. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.”

His words made your chest ache. When was the last time anyone had done what was “right” for you? You stared out at the gardens beyond the window, their beauty feeling distant, unreachable. Your brothers had never cared about right or wrong, only power.

“I don’t understand you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You fight for them. You serve them. And yet…”

“And yet I see who they truly are,” Marcus interrupted gently. “I serve Rome, not their cruelty. There’s a difference.”

You turned to face him, his nearness almost startling. For the first time, his presence didn’t feel overwhelming. Instead, it felt… grounding. Safe. He stood tall, but his expression was open, waiting for you to respond.

“They’ll hate you for standing up for me,” you said, your tone cautious. “They don’t forgive things like that.”

“Let them hate me,” Marcus replied without hesitation. “I won’t stand by and let them treat you as they do.”

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver through you. You wanted to argue, to remind him that opposing your brothers would bring nothing but trouble, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself studying him. His broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his face, and the way his eyes softened when they rested on you.

“I don’t need anyone fighting my battles,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it. “I’ve survived this long on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, stepping closer, his voice low but steady. “You deserve better than survival.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Before you could respond, Marcus straightened, his demeanor shifting as if sensing he had said too much. He nodded once, a gesture of respect, before stepping back.

“I should leave you to rest,” he said. “You’ve been through enough today”

Your breath caught at the sound of his voice, so steady and sincere, the words lingering in the air like a balm to your frayed nerves. You wanted to reach out, to say something and stop him, but you hesitated, unsure of what held you back.

Marcus took another step away, his broad shoulders tense, as though leaving you was harder for him than he let on. His words, though respectful, carried a tone of finality that made your heart twist.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. He bowed slightly, taking your hand in his, and kissing it as his dark eyes met yours, “My lady.”

As if his words had worked as a kind of manifesto, the “soon” came no long after.

There you were in the gardens, barefoot, with your wild hair looking at the moon shining over the town you had been forced to call it home.

Marcus could see from your posture to your void eyes when you were there in the middle of your brothers, faking enthusiasm, while inside your bones you hate with passion this torturous show.

You didn't wish to be cruel to the world but kind.

You didn't wish to see blood coming out from innocent men who had fallen prey under the hands of the cruelty of the roman empire.

And you were exhausted of seeing and hearing the cheering of people celebrating death as a spectacle.

You didn't want this to be your life but just a nightmare you were going to wake from too soon.

And now, as Marcus could see the moon reflecting on your face. He was able to see through the golden jewelry and the soft material of your dress, he could see a soul pleading to the moon to set her free.

Something must have alerted you. You turned around facing him hiding under his cloak.

"General Acacius?" You whispered, closing your eyes a bit to take his form under the soft light of the moon.

"My lady" he replied softly, with respect to his tone.

“What are you doing here?” you breathed, your voice trembled under his gaze.

He hesitated for mere seconds, his gaze intense as it locked onto yours. “I could ask you the same, my lady,” he replied, a trace of sweetness in his tone. “It seems even those closest to the emperors need to escape from time to time.”

A silence fell between you, charged with a tension that both thrilled and unsettled you. The few stolen glances you’d shared over the past days had spoken volumes, but you had never dared to hope his heart could be beating as fast as yours in your presence.

You turned around again, your back to him. "I love coming here to look at the moon. " You spoke, breaking the silence "This seems to be the only place my brothers haven't tainted yet."

"How they don't know about this place?"

"My father sent this place to be built for his only daughter." You replied, and Marcus could notice how the corners of your lips graced with a smirk, even from behind. "A place for her to be a girl."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, General. Women seem to be useless for having a voice, less for ruling an Empire. Everything I can do is stay here and feel like I own something." You hold your voice for a minute, “I’m just a statue waiting to crumble.”

Marcus didn't reply to your words and if it wasn't for the sound of his steps getting closer you would have thought he left.

You could see his outline from the corner of your eyes, the way his face had been marked by cruel events you despise. A red mark on his cheek, a few scars on his neck and for brown eyes that contrasted from his hard exterior, shinning under the same moon as yours.

"How did you find this place, General?" You asked, bow fully looking at him. You were wondering how your brothers never knew about this place but him had been the first man to find it, just after his return.

He took a brief look at you from the corners of his eyes. "I would say that something brought me here," he paused for a moment, "but it seems like it was you, my lady."

You had to hold your breath for a moment. You didn't expect such words from Marcus. He was the beloved general of Rome. But to your eyes he was still a man who had built his honor from cruelty or that was what you thought.

"I don't believe so." You replied, despite the rapid beating of your heart, you didn't want to be fooled by a man with soft brown eyes and a heart that seems to be kind. "I do not desire a man to follow me, not less one who is the puppet of the cruelty of all this cold nonsense."

"My lady…"

"Please, you may go now." you said, turning your gaze back to the moon.

Marcus didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the faint torchlight flickering in the hall. His hand rested on the edge of the door, his knuckles tight and pale as if he were restraining himself from saying something he would later regret.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the embers in the hearth. The tension between you felt almost unbearable, a quiet battle waged in silence.

“I know what you think of me,” he finally said, his voice softer now, like the hush of a secret shared in the dark. “You see a man of blood and iron, one who serves an empire that devours cities for the Glory of Rome.” He exhaled slowly, almost as if gathering the strength to continue. “You’re not wrong to think that. There are nights when I wonder if all of this is worth it, if I am worth anything beyond my sword.”

His admission struck something deep within you, though you kept your face turned toward the moon. You refused to let him see the small crack forming in your carefully constructed armor.

“Then why stay?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying an edge of challenge. “Why continue to serve a cause you doubt?”

“I stay because I must,” Marcus said without hesitation. “It is all I have known, and it is all that has been asked of me. But you…” His voice faltered, and you felt the weight of his gaze, though you didn’t dare meet it. “You are different. You are everything this empire is not, kind, unyielding. Someone like you should be the one ruling Rome, the princess.”

You chuckled at the statement “My brothers would send me to death before I’ll have the chance to sit on that throne.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress. His words shouldn’t have this effect on you, yet they lingered, stirring something unfamiliar.

“And that is why you should go,” you said, more firmly now. “You’re talking nonsense”

Marcus took a step closer, his steps echoing faintly against the cobblestones “Perhaps I do not belong here,” he said, his tone unwavering, “but that does not mean I will walk away so easily and let this empire fall under your brother’s madness.”

You turned to him then, unable to ignore the quiet determination in his voice. His eyes, those soft brown eyes that had once seemed so dangerous, now held a sincerity you hadn’t expected. For the first time, you saw not a general, but a man, a man who carried the weight of his choices and the burden of his doubts.

“You think you can change my mind?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the unease stirring in your chest.

“No,” Marcus admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I hope, one day, I can show you what I am talking about.”

Before you could reply, he bowed his head slightly, as a gesture of respect rather than submission, and turned to leave.

As the door closed behind him, you stood in the quiet of the garden, your heart beating fast while his words played over in your head.

The arena buzzed with the deafening roar of the crowd, their excitement spilling into the air as dust kicked up from the floor below. You sat stiffly behind Geta and Caracalla, their laughter and sharp whispers grating against your ears. This was how it always was, trapped in their own world, watching their cruelty unfold.

Today, the games were bloodier than usual, the violence more drawn out, as if they relished every clash of blades and every cry of pain. You tried to ignore the chaos, your gaze drifting to the far horizon, where freedom felt like a distant dream in the blue sky.

But then, a movement to your right drew your attention. You turned your head just slightly, your breath catching when you saw Marcus approaching. His expression was calm, unreadable, though his eyes softened ever so slightly when they met yours. Without a word, he settled into the seat next to you.

“General,” you greeted, your voice low.

“My lady,” he replied, his tone equally soft, though there was a subtle warmth in it.

For a while, neither of your spoke. The sounds of the crowd and the clash of weapons filled the silence between you, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“They love this,” Marcus finally said, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You didn’t reply, too focused on fidgeting with the material of your dress, your fingers twisting the fabric in small, anxious movements. The tension in your shoulders was noticeable, your gaze fixed on the arena below, though it was clear your mind was far from the bloodshed.

Marcus noticed. He always noticed. After a moment of hesitation, his hand moved, gentle, placing it over yours. His touch was warm, steady, and it stopped the restless motion of your fingers.

Startled, you glanced at him, your breath catching as you saw the softness in his expression. There was no judgment, no pity, only quiet reassurance. For a moment, you forgot where you were, the chaos of the arena fading into the background.

But the moment didn’t last.

“Ah, what’s this?” Geta’s voice cut through the din, sharp and mocking.

You flinched, quickly pulling your hand away as Geta turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he looked between you and Marcus. His lips curled into a sly grin, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Our dear sister has caught the attention of the great general. How… intriguing.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze unwavering as he stared ahead.

Geta leaned back in his seat, his grin widening as an idea seemed to spark in his mind. He turned to Caracalla, nudging him with an elbow. “Brother, I think we haven’t been too generous with our sister, have we?”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What do you suggest we could do for her?”

Geta’s grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “A little incentive for the games. Let the gods decide her fate.”

Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was suggesting. “Geta, don’t—”

He ignored you, standing abruptly and raising his arms to address the crowd.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta’s voice boomed over the noise, silencing the arena. “Today, we have a special reward for our brave gladiators. A prize worthy of their strength and valor.”

Caracalla caught on quickly, his laughter echoing through the stands. “Indeed, a prize unlike any other,” he added, his voice dripping with amusement.

You shot to your feet, panic rising in your chest. “Geta, stop this!”

He turned to you, his smile cruel. “Sit down, sister. This is for the glory of Rome.”

You didn’t move, but your voice faltered, your protests drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as Geta announced his decree.

“The victor of this fight,” he declared, “shall win not only their freedom but also the hand of our beloved sister.”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, their excitement deafening.

Beside you, Marcus remained seated, his expression unreadable. But you could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he processed what had just happened.

And for the first time, you saw something in him that you hadn’t before, a quiet, burning fury, one that made you wonder just how far he would go to defy your brothers.

"They offered me as a price." You whispered to Marcus who was offering his arm for you to hold, as you tried to keep your composure.

You felt humiliated.

You felt that men owned you and despised the feeling.

Marcus didn’t respond right away. His arm remained steady, extended for you to hold, a silent offer of support. His face, though unreadable, betrayed hints of a restrained anger—anger that wasn’t directed at you, but at the cruelty of your brothers, the twisted spectacle they had made of your dignity.

“They did,” he finally murmured, his voice low but firm, so only you could hear. “And they will answer for it.”

You hesitated, your hand trembling slightly before resting on his arm. The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but between the two of you, it felt like a silent pact. Marcus guided you to sit back down, his movements deliberate, as if shielding you from the prying eyes of the crowd.

“Hold your head high,” he said quietly, leaning just close enough for his words to reach you. “You are not a prize. You are a queen in all but name.”

His words, though softly spoken, struck a chord deep within you. They carried a weight that steadied the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you—humiliation, anger, and a raw, aching vulnerability you despised feeling. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit straighter, your gaze fixed on the arena even as your chest burned with resentment.

The fight began, the clash of swords and the roar of the crowd filling the air. The gladiators fought with a ferocity that was almost unbearable to watch, knowing that your fate hung in the balance of their blades. You despised every second of it, despised the men in the arena who saw you as a reward to be claimed, despised the crowd who cheered for your subjugation, and most of all, despised your brothers for orchestrating this humiliation.

And yet, as the fight dragged on, your attention kept flickering to Marcus. He hadn’t moved, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the arena with an intensity that made your heart race. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening with every blow exchanged below.

“They cannot do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with barely contained anger. “They cannot decide my life like this.”

“They can try,” Marcus replied, his tone like steel. “But they will not succeed.”

His words were cryptic, but there was something in his voice, a quiet, unshakable resolve that made you glance at him. For a moment, you wondered if he already had a plan, if his mind was racing with strategies to undo the cruelty your brothers had unleashed.

The fight ended abruptly, the crowd roaring as the victor emerged, bloodied but triumphant. Your stomach churned as the man was announced, his grin wide as he looked up to the podium where you sat. You felt Marcus tense beside you, his hand gripping his sword so tightly you feared it might snap.

“Don’t,” you whispered urgently, sensing the storm about to break within him. “Please, Marcus.”

But he didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the victor below. And for the first time, you wondered just how far Marcus would go, not just to defy your brothers, but to protect you from their cruelty.

The victor's triumphant roar echoed through the arena, and the crowd erupted into wild cheers. You couldn’t bear to look at the man below, his eyes alight with the promise of his prize—you. Your stomach churned with revulsion, and your breathing quickened, panic clawing at your chest.

“Come,” Marcus said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise. His hand found yours again, firm but not forceful, and this time, you didn’t hesitate to take it. The heat of his palm against yours grounded you, gave you a tether to hold onto as you stood on unsteady legs.

You didn’t wait for your brothers’ gloating remarks or the smug expressions on their faces. Without a word, you let Marcus guide you away, his presence shielding you from the leering eyes of the crowd. The noise of the arena began to fade as you descended the steps, replaced by the rapid beating of your heart.

The corridors beneath the stands were dimly lit, the cool air a welcome reprieve from the suffocating heat of the arena. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to look back, refusing to give your brothers or the victor the satisfaction of seeing your fear. But inside, you were trembling.

“Marcus,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere they can’t touch you,” he replied, his tone low and steady. His hand tightened around yours, a silent vow that he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

The two of you emerged into the open courtyard behind the arena, the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. The sounds of the crowd were distant now, muffled by the heavy doors that closed behind you. You stopped walking, pulling your hand from his and turning to face him.

“They’ll come for me,” you said, your voice laced with frustration and fear. “They won’t let this stand. Geta and Caracalla—”

“They’ll have to go through me first,” Marcus interrupted, his tone sharp, his brown eyes fierce. “And I promise you, my lady, they won’t succeed.”

You stared at him, his words sinking in. He looked every bit the general now, strong, resolute, and unyielding. And yet, there was something else in his gaze, something softer that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t just protecting you out of duty or honor. There was something personal in the way he looked at you, in the way he stood so close, as though shielding you from the world.

"I can fight in the arena" he said, "for you."

You stared blankly at him, shocked at your core.

"What would you win from that? Do you want to own me like those men?" You asked.

"I do not wish to own you, my lady. You're not property. You're a free woman, and If I win, I'll become your husband and you would never have to endure those humiliations ever again."

"Just because I would be yours." You whispered, still broken at the thought of not being enough.

"You would be my wife, not my property." He clarified, "I will live and fight to keep your honor just as you deserve"

You looked away, heart pounding, his words washing over you like laurels over your skin. A part of you longed to believe him, to let his offer pull you from the grip of your family’s ambitions. But fear clung tightly, rooted in years of being nothing more than a pawn in your brothers' power games.

"General…" you murmured, voice wavering. "If you fight for me, you put yourself in danger. And if you fall, my life will only become darker, lonelier. I don’t want your blood on my hands."

He stepped closer, his eyes steady, fierce. "I would rather risk everything than stand by while you suffer. You deserve a life where you choose, where you're loved, not used."

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling. "But if you fight and lose, you’d be at their mercy. They’d make you a symbol. A warning to anyone else who dares to defy them."

He lifted your hand, pressing it to his heart. "Then let them try," he said, his voice unyielding. "For you, my lady, I would face even the wrath of the empire."

His touch was gentle, but his resolve was unbreakable. In that moment, you realized he wasn’t just a man willing to fight for you, he was someone who saw you as more than a title, more than a sister to emperors. He saw you, truly.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you risk this for me?”

For a moment, he hesitated, the stoic mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man beneath. “Because you deserve more than to be treated as a pawn in their games,” he said finally. “And because I…” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if the words were too much to say aloud. “You don’t deserve this.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion.

"Acacius… if you truly wish to do this," you whispered, your fingers trembling in his, "then I will stand by your side, come what may."

He smiled, a rare softness breaking through his stoic exterior. "Then we’ll face them together, my lady. And if they stand in our way…" His eyes darkened, a spark of defiance glinting within them. "They’ll learn that love is a force they cannot control"

"Do you believe you could come close to loving me?" You asked, heart pounding.

His reply didn’t come from words. Instead, he squeezed your hand over his heart.

His words lingered in the air, hanging between you like the delicate balance of a fragile moment. You searched his face, his steady eyes holding yours as if daring you to see the sincerity in them. For all his strength, for all his might as a general, Marcus stood before you as something else entirely. A man laying his heart bare.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved from yours to gently cradle your cheek, his touch warm and careful, as if he feared you might pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned into his palm, your heart pounding so loudly you thought he must hear it.

“May I?” he murmured, his voice soft and hesitant, as though you were something precious, he was afraid to break.

You nodded, unable to speak, your eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and light, testing the waters of your comfort. It was not the kiss of a conqueror or a man accustomed to taking what he wanted. It was the kiss of someone who had been waiting, who had held back his own desires out of respect for you.

The first touch was fleeting, but when he felt you relax into him, he deepened the kiss, his other hand settling on your waist to anchor you against him. The world around you faded. The distant noise of the Coliseum, the threat of your brothers, even the weight of your own fear. All that remained was the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart beneath your other hand.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet that followed. “Loving you,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion, “would be the easiest battle I’ve ever fought.”

[sanemistar]

DANGEROUS MAN

contents ★ clan leader!gojo x fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, suggestive (17+), making out, slight mention of biting/marking, reader gets called princess, 1.6k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

your parents had warned you several times about satoru gojo, the leader of the gojo clan. one of the strongest clans to exist, along with your own clan. they had forbidden you from speaking him, let alone being in the same room as him. due to the long history and the rivalry between your clan and the gojos, your clans had considered each other enemies for as long as one could remember. you had been familiar with their warnings like the back of your hand, and you had abided by them for so long. though you personally had no ill intentions towards him, nor even understood the hatred against the gojos.

that was, until you had met him in person at one of those boring higher up gatherings that you were forced to attend when you two coincidently went outside to get a breath of fresh air, away from all the tension and awkwardness inside.

the first thought that had come across your mind when you first saw satoru was that he was charming, like one of those charming princes you read about in fairy tales. you’d seen him in pictures before, but never this close. truth be told, pictures could’ve never fully captured how ethereal he looked in real life. you’d never seen anyone like him before, and you probably never would. he was simply out of this world, like a work of art—a one in a million man. enchanted by his beauty, you couldn’t help but stare at him in admiration. your eyes never dared to look away from him, as if they were glued onto him.

“well well. if it isn’t you, the princess from that clan.” satoru’s voice pierced through your ears, waking you up from your dazed state. “you’ve been staring at me for so long, like i’m a statue in a museum or something.” you were unaware of how long you’d been staring at satoru until you saw the confusion on his face as he pointed out. you felt your face redden in embarrassment and you immediately looked down in an attempt to hide your flushed face.

“s-sorry about that, gojo-san. i didn’t mean to do that, i just…” you trailed off mid sentence, unsure of what to say in order to justify your actions earlier. your head was in and your thoughts were all over the place.

you heard a pair of footsteps coming closer to you and before you was none other than satoru. the one man you shouldn’t be standing so close to. your mind was telling you to run away and leave, but your body refused to move an inch. his thumb quickly glazed over your chin, swiftly lifting it up and your eyes got caught in his alluring gaze like a mouse in a cheese trap that was unable to escape before he let go of your chin. you could swear that the spot where he touched you earlier was tingling, as if his touch was electric.

“oh c’mon, no need for these formalities. they mean nothing to me. my name is satoru, so just call me satoru.” he spoke and you were slightly taken aback, you two had just met and he already wanted you to act on a first name basis.

“but..” he cut you mid sentence.

“no buts, it’s pretty easy. just repeat after me, satoru.” he said his name again slowly, waiting for you to say it back. he was pretty insistent on it so it looked like you had no choice.

“satoru.” his name finally rolled off your tongue, and a proud smirk made its way onto his face upon hearing you say his name. the way it came off your lips got him a little excited.

just then an idea popped up in satoru’s head, a reckless one at that.

“why don’t we go somewhere else where it’s just us two? away from all this.” he grabbed your hand gently yet firmly, like he had no intention of leaving you alone.

you knew best that it was never good ignoring what your parents had told you and involving yourself with him. but at that moment, you agreed to go with him. completely forgetting about everything, the rivalry, the hatred, everything. you weren’t sure if that was a rebellion phase or what, all you knew was that it felt right leaving with him.

satoru seemed surprised for a moment by how quickly you agreed to follow him, but grinned and took your hand before dragging the two of you away as you disappeared from the main entrance and into a quieter place where it was just you and him.

you had no idea how you ended up being pinned against the wall with satoru’s tall, lean figure hovering over you. completely blocking your view and blocking you from sight.

“why did you follow me so easily, hm? what if i had a malicious intention of some sort. didn’t your parents warn you about how dangerous the gojos were? especially their leader.” your chest moved up and down as your heart began racing rapidly.

“if you had any malicious intentions like you said, you would’ve taken me somewhere outside the territory. but since we didn’t really go that far away, it’d be useless for you to be doing anything dangerous here.” you began explaining. and satoru seemed so impressed by your smart response.

“you’re indeed very amusing.” he chuckled softly. he rested his hands on the wall, forcing you to look at nothing else around but him.

tension between the two of you began rising, and you found yourself subconsciously looking at his lips.

and satoru was so quick to notice how you were eyeing his lips for a while now.

“you could’ve simply asked me for a kiss if you want it so badly instead of just staring at my lips, princess.” he leaned in as he whispered into your ear and you could feel it heat up a bit in embarrassment.

and before you could get the chance to say anything you felt satoru’s lips smacking onto yours. you gasped into the kiss in surprise, your mind screamed at you to break away and push him off of you. but this time not only your body, but also your heart, refused to. you wrapped your arms around his neck, getting in the mood as you pulled him even closer to you. your fingers ran through the back of his soft hair.

meanwhile, satoru’s hands delicately trailed all over your back, slowly exploring every part and every bit of your skin. he was taking his sweet time touching you all while having your lips against his own, tongue exploring every corner of your mouth.

as the two of you further got in the mood, your kisses had become sloppier and hungrier. teeth clashing against each other as tongues swirled around one another in sync. what started off as a soft, gentle kiss had become a series of deep, passionate kisses that held so much lust and desire in them.

you felt so good that you could almost see stars.

“mhmm..” careful not to make any loud noises in order to avoid getting caught by anyone, you hummed against his lips. and you never knew you had the ability to hum like that ever so sweetly.

you couldn’t believe that you were doing such things with the one man you were never supposed to be doing all of that with.

satoru gojo was indeed dangerous, he was too dangerous for your heart.

the two of you had been making out for almost ten minutes straight. if it wasn’t for your desperate need for air to breathe, you wouldn’t have broken away. but due to the lack of oxygen, you had to break away from the kiss and catch your breath. eyes were only half open, your head was still light and dizzy after that makeout session as you were heavily panting, your lips which were now swollen were still slightly parted as a small trail of drool trickled down your chin.

“you look so beautiful right now, i think i’m in love.” satoru glazed his thumb over the corner of your lips, wiping the drool off. he leaned in once more and began nibbling on the crook of your slender neck and you winced a little as you felt him biting a bit too hard which would have probably left a mark that you would have to hide.

“maybe we should leave all this behind and run away together. it’s a great idea, don’t you think?” he suggested as he looked up at you, his blue eyes glowed slightly in the dark.

you suddenly came back to your senses upon hearing the words he said and slightly pushed him off of you.

“satoru we..” you began speaking, trying to form a coherent sentence. “we can’t do that. we’re supposed to be enemies, remember?” it was more of a reminder to yourself than it was to him that you and satoru would never be anything more than enemies.

“but enemies don’t kiss each other like that.” he whispered as he continued kissing your neck and up to your cheeks, then your nose, then back to your lips. he gave you quick, light pecks before pulling away.

“guess i’ll have to talk to those annoying higher ups of ours and end that nonsense rivalry, cause no way i’m gonna let you be with anyone else that’s not me.”

and the next thing you knew, you were being dragged by satoru into the main hall where all the higher ups were as both of you made a dramatic entrance when he announced that he’d be marrying you before kissing you in front of all of them. leaving everyone in the room, you included, in great shock.

satoru gojo was a dangerous, very dangerous man.

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[cavillscurls]

wherever you stray, i’ll follow

alpha!joel miller x omega f!reader

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson era. Joel’s POV. Alternate universe: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Implied Soulmates. Alpha!Joel. Omega!Reader. SoftDom!Joel. Sub!Reader. Enemies-ish to lovers. Grumpy x Sunshine. Joel is emotionally constipated. Unspecified age gap. Stereotypical gender roles. Fluff. Angst. Self-flagellation. Poor coping & communication skills. Explicit smut. Dub-con elements due to the nature of heats, but everything is explicitly consented to. Size kink/size difference—Joel is huge in this, like 6’5, thick, broad, and burly. Reader has pubic hair. Pet names. Dirty talk. Scenting/scent marking. Man-handling. Fingering. Squirting. Drinking bodily fluids. Oral (f receiving). Multiple orgasms, somewhat uncontrolled. Unprotected PIV. Tummy buldge. Knotting. Breeding kink. Pregnancy implications. Adult Alpha!Ellie, Beta!Tommy, & Alpha!Maria make an appearance. Ambiguous-ish ending. wc: 10.7k

➻ a/n: this fic has been a long time coming & means so, so much to me. this won’t be for everyone, & that’s ok. i pictures game!joel for majority of this, but he is left to your imagination as always. thank you to @kiwisbell for beta reading and supporting me during the writing process. any feedback is so appreciated enjoy. x

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Tommy Miller had always been the foolish brother, but even Joel found his particular lack of cautiousness that night out of the ordinary. 

There were three members. What was left of a pack, likely separated or raided. They had entered the walls of Jackson that fateful evening—the walls Joel and his brother happened to be manning—dirty and famished, overly emotional and outwardly grateful for the sanctuary. The first two, an elderly woman and a teenage boy, betas. He could tell just by the way they walked, the monotonous way they carried themselves, crossing the threshold of their haven with Maria at the helm of the herd. 

“The boy’ll be a good addition to routes, whenever he’s old enough,” Tommy had remarked. Ever the optimist, too keen on seeing the good in people to even acknowledge the risk that was posed every time another body came through those gates. 

And a risk it was. 

Joel Miller had experienced a fair share of fear in his life. Real, unadulterated fear, enough to bring a grown man to his knees despite his efforts to rise above it. A fear contrived by something entirely out of his control, forces working against the walls he’d built around himself, the rough exterior that fought, and bled, and killed, and protected. But the fear he felt that ghastly night remained unlike any other. It was entirely from within, something deeply embedded in himself. Fear, once harnessed as a means of survival, reduced to a shackle, left entirely at its disposal. It rose from his toes into his head where his ears rang and his face burned. 

Time stalled. His senses were numb to everything but this walking force of nature that, at first glance, was an indiscernible canvas of shivering limbs. But as it drew closer, the details were impossible to avoid. The shape of lips and sad eyes. The foreboding sound of a beating heart. Oxygen was no longer a necessity of survival, but vanilla and lilac and something so distinctly, uniquely sweet became the vice in his lungs. 

And it happened so fast, the way fear turned to panic and panic into anger—angry that he had no control or say over how the thing inside of him responded to the thing emerging before him. Powerless. He watched at a standstill as each body lining the wall stiffened upon your entrance. Even his brother, whose composure hardly faltered, could be heard inhaling a sharp breath of disbelief.

Omega. 

She isn’t stopping. Why isn’t she stopping? 

Joel’s eyes shot toward Maria, her indomitable gaze remaining forward on the parting doors. He had to fight the sudden urge to jump the gate over how seemingly unfazed she looked. His sister-in-law was a lot of things, but foolish wasn’t one of them. How could she be so foolish? 

A question left unspoken, unanswered, because his body was not his own. The sound of pounding rattled in his chest, blaring in his ears. A flame ignited. A switch flipped. The world as he knew it became mute to the battling voice that rang inside his head. 

Why isn’t she stopping? What is she doing here? It’s not real. There’s no more. There’s not supposed to be any more. It’s cold. It’s too cold, she’s not wearing a proper jacket. Where’s her jacket? She can’t be here. She’s not allowed to be here. How could she survive this long? Alone? She’s alone. No Alpha. Alone—

He vaguely recalled the sound of his brother shouting his name; a growl settled low in his chest and the heels of his hands pressed against his temples as he tore himself away from the perimeter and stormed through town. 

He needed to get away. Put as much distance between him and that thing that poked and prodded at what was to remain untouched. That stirred him, that set him quick to anger as those of his kind were notorious for. What he worked hard to not be. 

He wasn’t sure how long he paced. How many glasses of whiskey he downed, or the number of curses he threw at his walls, but later that evening, when he had subdued himself to some sort of composure, Joel sought after his brother and his wife, making it a point to address the issue head-on. He burst through their door without knocking: 

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” 

“Joel—!” snapped the younger Miller, bouncing to his feet from the couch where he sat beside Maria, already engaged in conversation over what Joel could assume was the reckless decision at hand. 

“It’s fine, Tommy,” Maria interjected, extending a cautionary hand toward her husband. Her focused eyes took a once over of the fuming man in front of her. “Joel, I’m not turning away perfectly capable people. They pose no threat to us; we’ll find each of them a place here.” 

People. Them. Joel knew his sister-in-law wasn’t so naive as to think he was distressed over a couple of betas. The patronizing calm of her voice stirred him on, and he flashed his teeth at her when he spoke, low and gritty. A fight for dominance. 

“She’s an omega. Unmated.”

“And we’ll be sure to make accommodations for that.” Maria nodded slowly, carefully. She was all too familiar with the taming of beasts. 

Joel shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “There are twelve goddamn unmated alphas in these walls, Maria.” 

“Yeah, you included,” she clipped, and that shut him up good. “And with the way things are progressing, soon enough, Ellie.” 

That made him nauseous. 

Ever since her eighteenth birthday, she had been showing all the tell-tale signs of an emerging alpha. Joel knew—despite his unpreparedness and objections to the thing called nature—there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only other option was to prepare. And up until that point, Joel had thought his adopted daughter's presentation was the worst of his worries. 

He wasn’t prepared to reevaluate his own self-control. 

He hadn’t dealt with a rut since Boston; it was only the start of FEDRA’s reign, before the suppressants had been sufficiently pumped into the population, and fiery instinct was reduced to a dull nuisance. And while his access to the aid was now nonexistent, he still hadn’t considered it possible anymore before you showed up. Upon his and Ellie's arrival, the measly two other omegas in his vicinity had already inhabited Jackson. Both mated. 

Joel assumed the next time he encountered the type, it would be when one in the community presented. And by that point, he hoped he’d be far too old for the monster inside his head to have any more biological control. 

The solution had been to set you up in the cottage furthest from the center of town. It was a decent little space that had been used for storage until late, having cleared the fireplace last fall for ample central heating and restoring some of the rotten infrastructure. As deliriously naive as he saw it, the belief appeared to be that the distance of your dwelling from the rest of Jackson would prevent any complications if they arose. When they did. Joel couldn’t decipher what genius course of action his sister-in-law had for when the time came, but his protests were silenced by the majority. And by morning, you had claimed your corner of sanctuary. 

That was six months ago. 

And while the winds of winter kept the newcomers isolated with adjustment, the summer's heat brings livelihood—and much more of you. 

Your voice, your laughter, your scent. It permeates Jackson’s walls like a disease, saturating Joel’s life despite his efforts to avoid your very existence. 

You contribute your share at the daycare, of all places, often seen with a young pup clinging to your neck. Sometimes, the little ones chase after you in the center of town—running towards you with excited, grubby hands and beaming smiles. You always grace them with an embrace. It’s in your nature, the ability to comfort, to nurture. 

You’re gentle. Kind. Considerate. A smile brighter than a thousand stars. Perfection didn’t appear to have a name until the universe made you, and there is no denying the intrinsic effect you have on those around you. 

Because the rest of the town fucking adores you. 

There is no escaping you. As hard as he tries, you linger at every turn, in every breath of the wind that creeps down his back and stands the hair up on his skin. Most are in awe, admiring the creature that glides before them, whose presence adds to balance the very nature they all endure. A missing piece of a puzzle, something delightful and pure. 

Rare. 

Not diamonds, or rubies, or gold can compare. But in tandem comes those who feed on things that shine, and he knows that some—a very specific some—leer with less adoration and increased selfishness. Some who believe they are owed for the mark you bear, whose pride and lust drive their ambition, whose power is unmatched in the face of something so helpless. 

He’s aware, by the principle of semantics, that he falls into this greedy some. Though he could not identify further from it. And while the monster may heave and thrash within the dwindling confines of his chest, lured to all that is so rare, Joel had decided the moment you walked through those gates he would have none of it. He would not reduce himself to the thing he worked tirelessly to tame, nor would he entertain the force of nature that drove someone like you to something like him. 

You’re aware of his distaste for you. That much is obvious in how you blatantly evade him in town, skirting around when you are forced to share the vicinity, a terrified thing, so easily spooked. 

Once, a few months prior, he had been asked to repair some of the leaky ceiling panels in the schoolhouse. Unbeknownst to him—and you, he assumed, judging by the way your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull at the sight of him and how the honeyed stench of the room turned sour—they were all located in the daycare room. 

What followed could only be described as two hours of slow, burning torture. He tried his very best to stay on task, he really did. But he was hindered by the discernible discomfort you exhibited and all it did to the thing inside of him. You tripped over your words to the fellow attendants in the room, couldn’t seem to locate anything you were looking for, and at one point, had to excuse yourself for what turned into a twenty-minute-long disappearance. And where he stood, high up on the ladder, trying to balance his body and his mind, Joel hated how worried your absence made him. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t smell you for those agonizing twenty minutes, and that anger he felt the first day he laid eyes on you returned. Because he was not a man that gave up control. 

And you, for whatever reason, wielded a great deal of it over him. 

The first day of summer promises a bonfire. Dusk, in the open plain beyond the stables, the laughter of children and the strum of music are bringing the community to life. These are cherished moments amongst the whole of Jackson, and Joel isn’t the kind of man to be so self-absorbed that he can’t understand why. He had, up until six months ago, once enjoyed the camaraderie. It was the first time in decades he felt a semblance of impulse to let go. No more running, fighting, grieving. 

He can hardly remember that feeling now. In its place returns caution, unpredictability. Six months and the work of years lost. He feels insane—the lurking monster that haunts his own shadow. And as hard as he tries to shake it, he fails every time. The feeling is embedded, brought to life by its complimentary fragment that, much to his dismay, walks the very same walls. Lurks in the same shadows. 

He used to feel stable, steady. Not any longer. 

Your hair is tied half up today, out of your eyes—he’s watching you. Not watching, observing. This is the trade-off, the compromise to keep the beast satiated. Always from afar, and never with the intent of action, he observes you and all you are. It’s a part of his routine, studying the way you move, the way you exist in this space you’re both forced to inhabit. Constantly drawn to one another, even in distance, even without trying. Magnetic. 

Frustrating. 

You’re smiling at something. And then laughter, like the sweetest song rattles his eardrums. You sit on a blanket across the mountainous flames, your legs tucked under you, beside two other girls he couldn’t care to remember the names of. Briefly, he wonders what it is that you find so amusing. 

A misfortune at the hand of another? 

No, he cannot imagine you to be so cruel. 

An anecdote from the daycare? 

Seems far more likely. The type to find joy in what you do, in all that is around you. 

He’s envious of this, maybe. The effortless way of being attracted to what is deemed good. He tries to remember a time when he knew another person like that; all that ever follows are brief memories full of sorrow. The hazy outline of something, someone, so perfect in a way no one should be. He always dismisses the thought. He would never know what it means to be that way, after all. 

“Nice night.” 

He damn near jumps out of his boots. Tommy’s sudden materialization beside him diminishes any spirals of imagination, a blessing in disguise. 

Still, Joel is bothered by the disturbance. His little haven of borderline-stalker tendencies crushed under his brother's obnoxious foot. He merely grunts in response. 

“Glad we finally got this event together,” Tommy continues nonetheless, a hand on his hip, sipping his beer bottle and glancing similarly across the flames. Joel’s eyes have already left you, his arms folding taut across his chest while he casts his gaze anywhere else, if only for the sake of avoiding his brother's inevitable chastising. “Good to get the kids out… good to get everyone out, really. Nice chance to mingle.” 

Subtle. Real subtle. 

“Out with it, Tommy.” He doesn’t feel like playing this game tonight. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the sake of appeasing his brother, or rather, his brother's wife. “Whatever it is you wanna say to me… out with it.” 

Tommy shrugs. “Nothin’ to come out with, Joel. Just that y’all have been here two years already and still seems like you have a tough time with these things.” 

He doesn’t miss the chosen emphasis. And it’s true, to an extent. While precarious in her initial adjustment, Ellie has been far more social than he. He talks to people. He just doesn’t trust them. Not those outside his immediate circle. And why should he? Joel does his work. He lends a hand to the community where he can. He’s polite. Punctual. Reliable. But he’s still living in the end of the fucking world, a world he has seen more brutality and injustice in than he ever would have cared to. So what if he doesn’t want to roast marshmallows and sing campfire songs? 

“What is it that you want from me, Tommy? I’m here, ain’t I?” 

“Don’t want nothin’ from you, brother,” Tommy says with a shake of his head, and Joel still can’t pinpoint just when his little brother finally grew the fuck up. Twenty years of lost time will do that to a person. “Just wanna be sure you’re livin’ this second chance to the fullest.”     

A second chance. 

He can pinpoint a time where he would have killed for one of those. 

And perhaps he did just that, and the real fault lies in being unable to embrace the outcome. Or maybe, the misery he lives in is the price he pays for the choices that led him here. Second chance shrouded in self-loathing. 

His brother persists: “Take advantage of how lucky ya are to be here, how lucky we all are to be here, to have…options.”  

Has he ever been good at weighing those? Twenty years ago, he would have had a different answer. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have known the debilitating options of life or death. This isn’t the first time Tommy has presented the topic of conversation, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. He wonders when he’ll find a response that appeases him, if ever. 

“Just try to enjoy yourself a little tonight, alright?” 

He doesn’t answer. He lacks the discipline to say something of substance. Instead, he turns his head forward and strains his arms against his chest, silent and brooding, until his brother sighs, pats him on the shoulder, and slips away. 

This is enjoyable enough; left to his own devices, keen to observe the joy around him, a silent hope that some of it may permeate, keep an eye on—

He’d been too preoccupied with Tommy’s noise to notice you’d disappeared from his line of sight. His brows furrow and he scans the perimeter of the bonfire. Your friends have moved to the beverage stand, but the spot you had occupied beside them is vacant. 

He cocks his head left, then right, scanning for signs; the cadence of your voice, the shape of you, your scent. And he’s frustrated. Because how could he let you vanish so fast? Where? Why? 

It’s something instinctive that compels him to act at the first sign of trouble. It’s the faintest thing, a subtle waft in the wind he’s certain no one would catch unless they were searching for it. Sour and burnt, his nose wrinkles. 

He does a one-eighty and panic seizes his chest.

Your silhouette may be foreign to the common eye, but he’s learned it well. It tramples and scrambles through the foliage, distressed; a good two, three hundred yards away from the crowd and headed in the direction of your dwelling. 

He’s honed in. A nerve fires inside his chest. His heart ticks to a beat that suffocates his eardrums, and there’s a churning in his gut that threatens to yank him forward. 

He turns back toward the flames, only once, before his footsteps fall in stride with you. 

He wonders just how long he’s been blind. How many days had passed since the tell-tale signs began to emerge. When you knew, if you knew, or if this very moment, here and now, is the one mother nature decided to take you by the hand and guide you down the imminent path. 

Joel always watches you. Observes. How could he have let this slip under his radar? 

He’s imagined this exact scenario numerous times before. Though in his head, havoc rained, blood was shed, and carnage laid bare across the whole of town. A wreckage for all to witness, to acknowledge the barbarous creatures that walk amongst them. Twelve starved, selfish alphas seeking a single, undeserved prize. 

In theory, his expectations aren’t all that far-fetched. In a time before, they may have been a reality. When there was no order. When creatures with perceived power could take and take, and others would be remiss to challenge them. 

But here, in the haven he occupies, those expectations are mere theatrics. 

Here, the air is frighteningly quiet, save for the joyous voices in the distance, the whistle of the breeze. He’s aware of the sound of his boots crunching against the ground, how the weight of them seems to melt into the earth with each daunting step. They follow after lighter, fluttering tip-toes; a scared, scampering thing on the run from all that could harm her. Alone.

Vulnerable. 

The closer he follows, the clearer your labored huffs reach his ears. The aroma in the air loses its earthy notes and adopts the sweetness you shed. A trail of seeds yet to sprout, bathed in moonlight, beckoning him closer. A single lantern is left lit on the cottage steps, a beacon. You clamber up them two at a time, and in tandem, his careless foot snaps a twig beneath his boot. 

Your head whips around, sharp eyes pinning daggers to his chest.

“I ain’t here to hurt you.” 

He puts his hands up in careful defense, leaving the vast space of the porch steps between you. Your chest is heaving and your temples are already damp. Your eyes have glossed over, a crazed look, and he knows the fever has taken the reins. 

But there is no urge to pounce. No incessant need to satisfy a selfish craving. It’s there, it lives, but it does not drive him the way he always suspected it would. It’s evicted from the home of fears that feed on his consciousness, and in its place, emerges something just as innate. As plain and clear as all other parts of him he once tried to diminish. 

“What do you need?” he asks softly, carefully. Unprotected prey are easily spooked. 

Your eyes dart every which way, searching for the complimentary predators. They glisten with tears under the porch lights, sweat reflecting off your forehead the more you lose yourself, and he knows that you’re afraid. He can feel it. 

“Omega,” Joel commands, and your wide eyes snap right back to him. Drawn to him and all that he is. If his instincts weren’t so hellbent on curbing your fears, he would’ve scolded himself for abusing such a power. “What do you need?” he repeats, a bit more pointedly. 

He watches the way your throat constricts when you swallow, brows twitching together in study of him. Searching for some ulterior motive, no doubt, but the trepidation is brief. Your nostrils flare in deep inhalation, and he wonders what remedy he must exude to ease you so effortlessly. 

You trust him. 

A terrifyingly naive mistake. 

And yet, there is no denying the way his chest swells with pride and how the monster inside of him roars to life. 

“Keep the rest of them away,” you say finally, and it’s all he needs to hear. The rest is second nature. 

He nods dutifully, lingering at the bottom of the steps. He waits until you blink the haze out of your darkening eyes, giving him a final once over, and scramble the door open and shut, before he climbs to the top of the steps. He turns his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest like they had been while he watched you through the fire, his eyes forward—focused. An unmatched mode of protection activates. He hears the deadbolt lock, and he’s grateful for your diligence. Though he knows it’s useless. Every alpha in a ten-mile radius would smell you within minutes. 

And that smell. 

It’s only now that he notices its potency. It grows and swells the longer you’re hidden inside; waves of vanilla and citrus that are almost too sweet. They burn his nose. Coat the back of his throat in thick tar, making it impossible for him to swallow without a taste of you. 

The beast grows, a second skin now. It occupies him further as each moment passes by. His fingers twitch, his own brow dampens, and an unrelenting ache settles low in his stomach. 

He gruffs out a breath, shaking his head rapidly. He needs to keep it together. He needs to move. 

He’s stalking the perimeter in a craze, eyes and ears on high alert. He leaves his mark behind wherever he can, brushing up against trees, allowing the dense pheromones that seep out of his skin to pollute the air. It isn’t foolproof, but it’s enough to dampen the sweet nectar radiating off your walls, at least for a time. 

He starts to panic when he finally hears the first little moan slip through the walls. A soft, restless thing, and the ache in his gut flourishes, threatening to send him to his knees. He seeks purchase on the rail of the porch, having made his way back to the door. He squeezes his eyes shut. This cannot be happening. 

Clarity becomes overshadowed by instinct, and the ache expands into his chest, his fingertips, his toes. It’s been years, and the onset is no less overwhelming. He’ll do what he can to prolong it, ensure that he is of his right mind when the height of the fever takes you. He can’t imagine what he’ll do, otherwise. 

But his patience is tested. The soft scratch beyond the front door makes sure of it. 

His ears perk up and his nostrils flare. He can make out a faint creak, weight shifting. Palms to the panes, a body pressing against the wood. Warmth seeps through the cracks. 

“Joel?” 

There you are. 

His body carries him up the steps–he doesn’t have to think about moving. His muscles and joints, his very soul seem to be linked to your command. He stands with his toes pressed to the bottom of the door, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to discern what’s right in front of him. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I’m here.” 

Your breath wavers, a sigh of relief. He zeros in on what he can make of you through the barrier, the last shred of sanity. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally croak, and his eyes shoot open, brows laced in confusion. 

“You have nothin’ to be apologizing for–”

“No, I do,” you press, and the words come with great difficulty. Heavy and strained, as if it is critical you say them now. 

Perhaps it is. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re not entirely yourself. Before he won't be able to get a coherent answer out of you, when every action you take relies solely on relief. 

He’ll take the opportunity to listen to what you have to say while you still can. You seem to realize it too as your words start to pour out, staggered and rushed:

“I know I’ve done something… something to upset you for all this time, and—and I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry, and I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it, Joel. I promise. Just please—”

“Stop that.” 

He can't even begin to believe what he’s hearing. Can’t possibly fathom the damage he’s caused, all he’s insinuated with his behavior, his choices. 

Him. He is to blame. 

Yet, you’re the one near tears. You’re the one who begs for forgiveness, where no plea nor apologies need be. You’ve convinced yourself, or rather, he’s indoctrinated you into believing you are the one to blame. 

That you are the monster. 

And oh, does it make his blood boil with well-acquainted self-loathing. 

“You don’t—you haven’t—”

Now he’s the one sputtering. Where does one find the words to right infinite wrongs? 

You’ve reached an impasse, and this is surely the desperation speaking. He’ll have to be the level headed one, steer you in the right direction. A chance to redeem himself, as great a feat it’s proving to be. He musters up the courage, sets his pride aside. 

“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong, you hear me?” His lips are near pressed against the wood, seething through them, desperate for you to latch on to each painful word. “You needa know that, all right? You… you ain’t the one to blame here.” 

The admission is ash on his tongue. Speaking it aloud, bringing it to life. His ears strain for any sign of you, fallen silent. Something inside possesses the urge to break clean through the wood. 

“Help me.” 

Forgiveness. Guilt welded to his chest now shattered and set free by the capabilities of kindness. You hardly know one another, and yet, there is mutual understanding. An agreement that surpasses time, bonded to what you’re made of. 

“Alpha,” you call, and Joel has to brace himself against the frame to keep from falling. His chest beams, his belly stirs, and the sting of desire plagues him. “Please.” 

He had read about the process once, long before. Disorientation. Excruciating aches that make it nearly impossible to stand upright. A tingling sensation so intense, that it replicates that of burning on the skin. 

Pain. 

You’re in pain, and he knows he can stop it. 

And soon enough knowing turns to needing, and he can feel a fraction of the pain you’re enduring. It’s enough to shatter his resolve. 

A heavy hand rests on the doorknob. A beat. And then, as if on cue, he hears the deafening sound of the deadbolt unlatching. 

He hesitates, opportunity served on a golden platter. Sifts through the repercussions of what could follow. But when the door opens and shuts again, he’s on the other side of it. The lock latches, this time, under his own hand. 

You’ve shuffled your way back from the door. Standing, though by the looks of it, with great difficulty. You’re no longer in your pretty summer dress, but a t-shirt large enough to swallow you and little shorts so short he can smell right through them. 

Even from a distance, his height climbs above you in the way only predators leverage prey. But he knows you’re unafraid. He can sense your fascination with him just by observing you; it’s as plain as the air he breathes, something intrinsic and right as hard as he’s worked to deem it wrong. It’s in the way that you stiffen, your body having no other choice than to respond to him. Wide eyes appraise every inch of him, and you trouble your bottom lip with your teeth in a spot he would very well like to taste. 

The aroma is suffocating; it seeps into his pores and wraps its eager hands around his throat. He won’t be able to rid himself of you for days, even if he tries. 

He’s grown pompous, it seems. For the thought of those he passes enduring a whiff of you on his skin stirs his cock in his jeans. The idea that awakens him, the prospect of becoming his. 

“I’m scared,” you hiccup, and he suddenly remembers he has greater things to tend to. 

He has a million questions, torn between action and rationale. 

When was the last time this happened? Do you have enough supplies prepared? How long is it expected to last? 

But none of that matters right now. She matters. And she needs you. 

“I know, baby.” He’s terrified, and the words spill out. “But you’re gonna get through it, ya hear me?” He takes another step closer. “We’re gonna get through it.” 

And there is a glimmer in your eyes, that of hope, and he knows that he is powerless in this battle he’s fought against himself for so long. He’s only prolonging the inevitable. 

“You’ll help me?” It's all pleas and hope and teetering near the symphony of begging, but he can’t hear you beg. He can’t bear the sound nor the implication, as he’s certain it will ruin him. But: “Please,” you whimper, plucking his kryptonite out of thin air and wielding it against him. And it’s only then that he notices the way your thighs tremble together, desperately searching for some sort of friction. “It hurts.” 

And he loses, loses the fight. He is lost to you. He always has been. 

“Turn around,” he beckons, and you obey him because you’re good. You’ll be so good for him. 

Because you know exactly what she needs. 

The floorboards creek beneath his feet, and when he reaches you, fingers drag the bulk of your hair over one shoulder. He watches the muscles flex below his touch, the way your hands ball into tight fists at your sides. He’s hit with the overwhelming scent of your exposed gland, and his mouth waters. 

Focus, the thing inside him chastises. You’ll have plenty of time to taste. 

He takes a final step, flushing the front of his chest with your backside. Greedy hands latch on to your waist, followed by the slump of your body into him. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and your lips part in a sigh—a pretty little sound, though he’s determined to alleviate the burden it stems from.

He reaches for one of your fists, taking you by the wrist. Your fingers unfurl upon his touch, and he uses it as an opportunity to fold his own overtop your knuckles. He guides your joint hands, settling them low over your belly. 

“Show me,” he murmurs, dipping his head to the crook of your neck. His lips dance over the skin, and your legs begin to tremble. He keeps the hand at your hip firm, an anchor. “Show me where it hurts.” 

Your breath catches and your eyelids flutter, half-open. Your fingers squeeze around his, and without hesitation, he squeezes back. He’s here. He’s got you. He won't let you go. 

And with that reassurance, hands descend, following your lead. You claw away the t-shirt hem, idling above the waistband of your shorts before sinking underneath. A low growl rumbles in his chest at his findings, muffled into your hair. You comb his fingers through soft curls, the flesh below hot and throbbing. Together, you cup the little seam of your cunt, and Joel has to fight the urge to fall to his knees, pry you open here and now. 

You’re dripping. Warm slick pools in his hand, sticky against your thighs. He feels a pulse of it spill out of you when his fingertips prod at your hole, your back arching off his chest, another devastating gasp of air choking you. 

He’s already dizzy, high on the fumes of you. He shuts his eyes when his vision begins to blur. And he’s hard. So achingly stiff against your back, if he thinks about it for too long, he's sure to lose control. You’ll send him into a full blown rut, he’s certain of it. Likely, you already have, teetering at the edge. And as these minutes tick, the less time he has to prepare you. To warm you up and slather you in pleasure before brute nature runs its course. 

“Joel,” you whine. His eyes flash back open, pupils doubled in size.

“Bedroom. Now.” 

He releases you, but only after giving a handful of your ass a terse squeeze. You squeal, nearly leaping out of his touch. You flash him your eyes only once before tiptoeing forward, and he’s hot on your heels, stalking after you. Patience drowned deep, mangled by desire. 

Your room is to be expected, cozy and warm, entirely you. Under any other circumstance, he’d have more appreciation for the homemade candles and delicate tapestries, the various posters displaying your interests and the native plants you’ve taken the care to pot and house. 

But he’s immediately drawn to your mattress, the piles of pillows and blankets strewn about in a fashion only you are to understand. You’ve been busy since you left him on the porch. 

You stop a few feet shy of the bed, glancing over your shoulder at him, uncertain. There’s a shift in your aura, suddenly grown timid. There’s a guilty sort of gleam in your eyes, but he recognizes it for what it really is—shame. That you cannot control your erratic breathing, or the heat that creeps over your brow. That your body faces the impulse of preparation for something beyond your control, and now, you’re forced to lay it bare for him to witness. 

He holds no judgment, only empathy. There is beauty in this vulnerability, and for the first time, he understands the gravity of your trust in him. Something in the shape of fulfillment blooms. 

“Here?” he asks, nudging his chin toward the heap. 

You nod once, and he shrugs the flannel off his shoulders. An offering, and you accept it wordlessly, eagerly. You eye it in your hands, then him, back again, hesitant. You’re shy now that he’s indulged you.  

That’s alright. She just needs you to take your time with her. 

Finally, you slowly bring the wad of it up to your nose and inhale. Your eyes droop shut, lashes kissing the apples of your cheeks, and his chest beams with pride at the notable fall of your shoulders. Tension evades you, replaced with the comfort of his scent. His. 

“Go on,” he instructs gently, once he has your eyes again. He wishes he could peer inside your head, decipher the wary thoughts that live so plainly on your face. 

Nonetheless, you shuffle your way to the mattress, carefully crawling on top of it. It’s painfully adorable, the way you gnaw at your bottom lip and analyze the space, his flannel still clutched in your fist. 

He also recalls reading about this, how it’s imperative that your space be designed to your exact liking. The assistance of a trusted alpha’s scent is a surefire way to heighten comfort. 

So when you drape his flannel over the pillow you lay your head upon at night, and tuck it in tight around the edges, he’s overcome with a mighty wave of emotion. He is strengthened, his affliction no longer a weakness, but a gift. A means of sustaining your well-being. He almost feels unworthy. Almost. But when you sit up on your knees at the edge and give him those expectant eyes, he imagines what it would be like to rid the town of the eleven other hungry beasts who could have ended up outside your door. So that they may never get a breath of you. 

That they may never touch what’s his. 

He approaches with caution—slowly, toeing off his boots in the process, fighting every urge to pounce. Droplets begin to roll down your temples, and he thinks you’re the most beautiful like this; wild eyes, a little frenzied. Awaiting some treat like a starved puppy who's already forgotten how to chew, how to swallow. He will remedy this. He’ll feed you, satiate you. 

You’re an antsy little thing now, nearly bouncing up and down, toes curling and uncurling beneath you. And as soon as his shins meet the bed frame, you’re rising on your knees, nearly his height now. You study one another and the heat between you, the uneven breath and the palpable compulsion to touch. His brows rise on his forehead, surprise, when you reach out first. Shaky, dainty hands coming to rest upon his shoulders that glow under your willing gesture. 

He can’t help himself; his hands splay over your ribcage, curving around your lungs, and yanking your chest against his. You yelp out, but the tiny grin that follows on your lips and the way you wind your arms around his neck flash a million green lights. He can hardly keep up, and he realizes now he’s the one panting; his fingers bruise into your skin, and his tongue seems to swell three sizes with need, starvation.  

And he hesitates, because if he proceeds, he’ll finally know the sensation of kissing you. He’ll have a taste of you. He’ll understand what it means to have your body pressed against his, and how the scent of him will change, saturated by pieces of you. 

But it’s you and your willingness to be so kind, so undeniably what you are, that breaks him from the mold he’s cast. You scratch him gently just below his ear to get his attention, and his worried eyes find yours—a pure contradiction, only certainty and peace to be found. 

It’s alright. She’s ready for you. 

This voice is different, warped. A mixture of two. He’s not sure if he hears it from him, or you. 

He doesn’t care. 

His lean into the kiss is measured, but it’s not long before it descends into madness. You’re wound and fiery against him, clawing at the nape of his neck, baring tongue and teeth. He’s willing, eager to keep up, bending you at the small of the back and crowding over you. Licking you open and shoving his tongue between your lips, until the sharp sounds of saliva echo through the room and his palate is coated in sweetness. 

He loses himself a bit, winding a hand up your back until it’s latching around tendrils of hair and pulling taut. You gasp, arching into him, and he growls at the opportunity of more of you, to taste all of you. 

His lips clamber down your throat, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. You’re mumbling something, indescribable under the mask of your flourishing heat, but the pliancy of your body is all he needs to make way for instinct. 

When he reaches the base, the tip of his nose traces your clavicle, sniffing like a mad dog. He continues up the curve of your neck until he finds the rough little patch behind your ear. Here, he inhales deep, audibly; your scent is most potent here and it clouds his judgment. His tongue juts out from his lips, salivating, searing across the gland and sealing his invasion with a gentle kiss, and oh, you like that. He hears the strangled sound that rips through your throat, feels your sharp nails dig deeper into his skin and the weight of your body shuddering against him. 

He yanks at the hem of your t-shirt. “Arms up.” 

You heed his command, and he pulls the fabric over you, tossing it into oblivion. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled amongst the nest of your things and his, in no time. He sinks to his knees, huffing at the stiffness of them. He bullies himself between your shaking thighs and drags his paws across your torso. He cups both of your tits in an unforgiving grasp, heaving himself forward and suctioning his lips around one. You howl and pant, pain and pleasure, weaving fingers through his locks of hair and tugging just as hard as he sucks. He switches to the other, leaving welts behind, memories of his ardor. 

He wants them to linger. Knowing that he can’t mark you—won’t, not while you’re like this—in the way he longs to. A greedy act of ownership he hopes will ward off the others until he can map out this newfound territory. 

Your thighs suffocate his hips, radiating warmth. He feels the little gyrations of your hips, seeking friction, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you any longer. He licks a trail down your sternum, the tangy taste of fever, peppering kisses over your belly. His fingers curl over the waistband of your shorts, taking two fistfuls, and he rips them in two. Joel doesn’t think you’ve even noticed the destruction, already pawing needy hands across his shoulders to guide him where you need him most. 

Your legs part instantly, willingly, and his mouth drops open at the sight. He’s suddenly reminded of his own struggle, his cock seeming to swell another size in his jeans at the sight of your bare, swollen cunt. Creamy liquid coats your wet skin, pearly clit swollen and wanting. He rests a cheek upon your inner thigh, latches his hands around the outer to keep you steady, and admires. Lets his eyes fall shut and leans in, burying his nose in the soft curls on your mound. He inhales long and groans; the earthy musk, the inviting sweetness. 

“God, look at this pretty fuckin’ hole.” He starts blathering aloud, but you smolder under his praise. Bucking your hips and grabbing at all the bits of him you can find. “This all for me, Omega?” 

Yes, yes, yes, you pant, speaking with your body and your mouth, nodding so frantically. He enjoys the way your cunt flutters around nothing, each little pulse oozing another drop of sweet slick, coaxing him in. 

He wets his lips, takes another whiff of you. He’s certain he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t taste you, so he does. Flattens his tongue against your impatient pussy, and watches as you all but combust when he suckles up the nectar seeping out, all for him. 

It’s more heavenly, more euphoric than he could’ve imagined. The stain of you against his tongue, ambrosia, a remedy for all ailments. He laps into you, dehydrated and desperate for every drop, smearing his tongue all over your cunt, your mound, your thighs. A feast for the taking. 

You wail above him when his lips latch onto your clit, and heavy hands force your thighs back against the mattress—he needs you spread, and still. Needs you to understand the severity of this famine he’s experienced for so long; maybe, as long as he’s existed. You yank at his hair and your heels dig into his back, pushing and pulling all at once, and when he finally comes up for air, he’s feeding you his fingers. Catches your eyes and the way they grow when he sinks two, thick digits inside of you, groaning at the squeeze of your plush walls, ripe and ready for him. 

“Gonna open you up for me, darlin’,” he rasps, lips and cheeks and chin gleaming with you. You hastily prop yourself up on your elbows, getting a view of the way he learns you. Moonlight glows across sheen skin, angelic. 

“B-but Joel—” you whine, but he silences you with a thrust of his fingers, curving them up, up, up, and beaming when your legs jerk and your eyes roll back. He taps his fingertips against the spongy little spot he’s discovered.

“Hush, now,” he bites, but his taunting fingers promise a better outcome than his tone. Your head has already fallen back into the pillows, hands mindlessly grabbing and twisting the sheets around you. “M’gonna open you up, get you nice and ready to take me.” He starts his steady pace then, gradually pulling his fingers back and rocking them forward, maintaining the hook, searching for the sweet little spot that makes you cry out every time he bumps it. “You’re gonna be patient, let me make it all better, yeah?” 

“Yes, Alpha. Yes, yes.” 

He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy this descent into submission. How the further you slip away from him, the further he is from himself. Two parts of a whole lost to what nature made them, somehow, finding one another to latch onto. 

He leans into it. Embraces it. He needs to make this last. Take advantage of all that it is, fearing it may be the first and only time he’ll be lucky enough to have it. 

A heavy hand, his free one, presses against your lower belly. He can feel the drag of his fingers inside of you, just below his palm, sending his blood to a boil. Sweat graces his own brow; these are shared symptoms, that of your fever and his rut. Cosmic, burning from the inside out, like stars. Everything he is, created for you. 

He can feel the wave, the buildup of pressure in your gut that makes his own ache. Feels the wet tip of his cock in his jeans when you start to pant his name, when a flimsy hand reaches for the flannel you tucked away so neatly, and yanks it toward your face. Smothering yourself with it, shoving your nose to his scent. 

“Alpha—nghh!” 

“C’mon, baby. C’mon,” he chants; a mantra. Presses harder onto your burning belly, extends his thumb to circle over your throbbing clit in time with his flexing wrist. 

Your body seizes, soft, full breasts rising and falling as you desperately gulp the air. Your poor legs tremble so hard, you can’t keep them upright anymore without his help, so they drape over his shoulders. Squeeze them tight, claws nearly drawing blood against his scalp, and your pussy sucks him into the knuckle. Grips on like a vice before the wave crashes, and you’re gushing around his fingers. Crying out ecstasy, soaking his chin, his chest, your limp legs. 

“Fuuuck,” he’s growling, in awe of the little spurts of cum that keep flowing out of you with each measured jingle of his digits. He wants to see how much he can drain you before he removes them, how much pretty, perfect, omega slick you’ll make for him, every drop an homage to your yearning for what he’s preparing to give you. The thing that swells, and aches, and burns at the base of his cock, and he can’t help but rub it up against the side of the mattress, desperately seeking some of his own relief. 

You’ve lost yourself entirely now, he knows this. The orgasm he’s granted you sets your full heat into motion, and you’ll require more. Can sense it in the haze of your eyes, the delirious babbling of his name mingled with Alpha, Alpha, please. Tears coating your cheeks, an emptiness in the pit of you only he can fill. 

But one taste isn’t enough, and he’s greedy. Greedy, greedy alpha of a man, who needs more. Can’t help it as he watches the liquid pour from around his fingers, so he unsheathes them, quickly replacing them with his open mouth again to drink the goodness right out of you. A fountain of excellence he’s certain he’ll never tire of. 

He must be lost in this, the incessant need to quench his thirst, for some time. Because you start to whine and thrash below him, strings of pleas and sorrow alike. Pulling at his t-shirt, trying to tear it from him at this awkward angle. Telling him over and over that it hurts, Alpha, it hurts—and that just won’t do. 

He quickly replaces your wandering fingers, tugging his shirt up and off of him and retreating to his feet to battle with his belt buckle. You jolt up at this, suddenly alert, perching at the edge of the mattress, wet hair sticking to your face, eyes taking a curious path down bare skin. 

There’s a momentary wave of self-consciousness; he can’t remember the last time a woman saw him naked, let alone after the safety and comfort that Jackson provided. 

He’s aged. Gained a few pounds in his belly, muscles bulky and lined with fat instead of the lean mass they once were. But then, you place your palms on his chest. Flutter your eyes up at him as you glide your hands slowly over his torso, and make sure he’s watching when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to his sternum. His eyes go dark, his insecurity silenced. 

“Wanna taste it, Alpha,” you demand, voice breaking at the edges. Sounding simultaneously foreign and never more like yourself. Shaky fingers reach down, cupping him through his boxers, making his dick jump, and he sucks the air through his teeth. “Can I taste it, please?” 

He grins down at you, because yeah, you’re good. So good. So polite. Just like he knew you would be. Good, kind, generous little omega, too much so for her own good. You rake at his bare chest, start to palm him slowly, batting dangerous eyes up at him. So tempting. He reaches down, takes your chin between his fingers, and pets your bottom lip with his thumb. Hoping to soothe away disappointment. Because as much as he wants to be selfish, he needs to be inside of you. 

“No time for that now, sweet baby. Not this time. Wanna give it to you somewhere else.” He drops his hand, splaying his fingers low over your abdomen. “Right in here, huh? Isn’t that what you want?”

Oh, yes. Yes, it is. You nod up at him, frantic, mouth hung open and drool spilling out the sides. Ravenous thing you are, just as hungry as he. 

“C’mere. Let me help you.” 

He’s got you by the hips, lowering you properly back against the pillows. He shuffles out of his boxers, and you watch him, dazed; your fingers in your mouth, chewing on them. Knees up to your chest, thighs rubbing back and forth, slipping so easily with all the pretty slick he’s pulled out of you. 

Vulnerable little creature you are, you welcome him into your nest. Pull your fingers out from your teeth and extend them towards him, and spread your legs for him to settle his mass between. And when he does, there’s a shared sounding of pleasure. He sits back on his heels, guiding the weight of his heavy cock over your cunt, and fuck, if you aren’t just perfect like this. 

Your body burns, a fire he must extinguish. He leans forward, exasperating you a bit when he drapes his weight over you, caging you in with elbows on either side of your head. His knees still cradle your ass, and he uses the mounted leverage to grind his cock against you. He huffs, his knot blazing, painful and stiff, and his gut is on fire. You’re so warm, so wet, and he slips so easily between you. He can’t help but growl out when you begin to meet his thirst with needy rocks of your own. 

Your eyes droop shut, hands seeking purchase on his shoulders, and he uses his to cradle each side of your scalp. He presses his forehead to yours, captures your parted lips in a searing kiss. 

“You’re gonna give me another one,” he mumbles, drawing back from you, reaching for his stiff cock and gripping it tight. His eyes drop to where you’re nearly connected, so close. You glisten along his shaft, and he uses it to rub the angry tip of him back and forth over your folds, parted petals that threaten to suck him in each time he catches on the opening. He taps it on your tender clit; you quiver and clench, wailing out frustration. 

“N-no please—please,” you beg, eyes brimming with tears again. You slide your hands underneath his arms, digging your nails under his shoulder blades. “Please put it inside me, Alpha. Please, please.” 

“You can do it, baby.” 

“I can’t, please. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” 

And you do. You chase the high vigorously. The jerks of your hips follow him, taking great precision in the way he slides his shaft up and down your swollen little seam, paying special attention to your clit. He can feel the way it jumps and throbs, all the juices flowing out of you dowsing over him, dripping down onto his knot. 

He can’t look away, an obscenely beautiful sight. And the next time you quiver, clench around nothing, and call out his name, he just can’t help himself. 

He slips inside of you with one, tenacious thrust. Met with no resistance, only warmth and fullness. Your entire body goes rigid, eyes bulged and lips hung open in surprise, before relaxing entirely. You melt into him, the fury of your need thawing with his gift, and you sigh a beautiful sound of reprieve. Vanilla melds with leather, interwoven, and he knows he’s ruined you for any others. 

And he. He’s sweating, and panting, and the shudder won’t leave his spine. He’s never felt anything quite like it, the flutter of a fertile omega’s cunt around his cock. He was dreaming before, and now he’s awake. Startled by all that is perfectly right. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.” He rolls his hips once, the tip of him bruising your cervix, and you sigh his name. “Promised I’d make it all better, yeah?”

You use the leverage of his shoulders to crane your neck up, pressing your forehead to his. Your thighs straddle his ribcage, clinging to him, needy little pet that you are. 

“S-so full, Alpha. It’s so big.” 

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos. “But look.” He parts with a fleeting kiss to your chin, sitting back on his heels and dropping his gaze to where you’re connected. A thick ring of cream sits above his knot, and it pulses at the sight. “Look how well she’s taking me.” 

You shakily bring yourself to your elbows, peering with drunken eyes and O-shaped lips. Your brows knit at the center of your forehead, and the precious, fucked-out look you cast up is enough to send him into motion. 

He grunts, wrapping his hands around your hips and yanking your bum up and onto his thighs. His pace is slow but deep, focused on kissing your womb with every thrust. Now that he’s inside of you, he can focus on nothing but the result. How imperative it’s become that he fills you. Satiate the ache by pumping you with his seed. He bares his teeth, images of his spend dripping out of you flashing before his eyes. He needs it. Chases it with fury, a conquest. But he won’t let it go to waste. No, he needs to knot you. Be certain that every drop of it touches your womb. How it would feel to have you latched to him, the prospect of its ramifications—a swollen belly, a piece of you carrying a part of him—sounding nothing but appealing.  

“JoelJoelJoel.” You’re repeating his name like a prayer, looking at him with such devotion. 

He’s picked up his pace, instinctive. Hard enough now that your flimsy mattress springs squeak, and the headboard thumps against the wall. You’ve fallen back into your pillows, your hands coming up to knead and pull at your breasts, and fuck, if it doesn’t gratify him to see you lean into the pleasure. 

He knows you're close when the tears at your waterline begin to stream down your cheeks. He scoots you further up his thighs, places a heavy hand back on your belly, and sure enough, on his next thrust, he can feel the bulbous tip of his cock through the skin. He grits his teeth, and he knows you must feel it too because you gasp as if he’s committed some sort of crime, shock and disbelief. 

“Feel you—haa—in-in my stomach, Alpha.”

“That’s right, baby,” he grunts. “In your fuckin’ guts. Just where you needed me.” 

His thumb drops to your clit, circles it with the rhythm of his thrusts, and makes you sing. There isn’t, and he’s sure there never will be, anything like the way you feverishly clench around him. Actively trying to suck him in, the steady flow of tears and cum, your incoherent babbles, beyond your control. He needs you closer, he needs to saturate you with every part of him. 

He rolls onto his back, scooping you into his chest and dragging you along with him. Gets you good and propped on his bent legs before he drives up into you. You collapse onto his chest, desperate hands clinging to his pecs. You burrow your nose into his neck, and he nearly bursts at the seams when you tease your teeth across his beating gland. 

“One more,” he seethes, bouncing you up and down with a great force; you needn’t even help him. He takes palm-fulls of your ass, secures the reins. Your hips will bruise by morning, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth the desperation in the way you cling to him, call to him. “Give me one more, Omega, and I promise I’ll give you what you need.” 

You wail out, half protest, half pledge, and you’re actively clamping down on him. Working your tight cunt over his shaft, milking him closer and close to the shining edge, and he feels his belly begin to boil. His head pounds and his gland aches, and as soon as you release again, unable to curb yourself from the pleasure he vows, the voice worms its way back into his ear. Chanting now, now, now. 

He spills into you with a mighty roar, stuffing his knot up inside of you as soon as it expands. He digs his teeth into your shoulder, pushes your hips further, and further down, nowhere else to go, but he has to be sure he’s filled you tight. That he can keep you here, locked onto him for as long as it takes to eradicate the delirium, as many times as you need him to fill your fertile little womb. 

And you come again, all from just this. Tight, soft, and bruised, you clamp around his knot as if you’re worried you’ll lose it. And he squeezes his eyes shut at the overstimulation, bites on his tongue to curb the pain, and lets it flourish in glorious pleasure. His cock releases another string of cum, and Joel groans. 

You’re hardly lucid on his chest, trembling, breathing heavily. One of your hands wraps around his sticky shoulder, clutching into his skin, trying to steady yourself. He works carefully to soothe you, to nurture the heavy come down, and avoid a dangerous drop. He scoots himself up the mattress, taking you with him until you’re both comfortably propped against the headboard; there’s no telling how long you’ll be united like this, but he has no intention of rushing it. He drags his large palms over the length of your spine, litters kisses along your hairline, and you both share a whining sound each time he stiffens and spurts inside of you. He allows his eyes to shut, focusing on steadying his breath, the sound of your beating heart. 

Eventually, your body settles. You start to breathe evenly again, grow limp, purring little sounds of contentment. He lifts a hand to push away the hair that sticks to your cheeks, and you reach for it, latching your bony fingers around his wrist. You nuzzle your nose into his palm and wrap your lips around two of his fingers. He lets you suck on them like this for a while, humming, the salty taste of him seeming to quiet your nervous system and ease you back into a state of equilibrium. 

There will be consequences for what’s transpired here. The post-euphoric clarity lays his transgressions bare and forces him to examine them. He feels, quite regrettably, the return of war. That between himself and his nature, though here and now, they are far more intertwined than they’ve ever been. 

He has a decision to make, one that months, days, hours ago seemed so clear. That he will not give way for the monstrosity he harbors, if only to save you from a lifetime of horror and regret. 

But the hours, minutes, seconds have passed, and they dwindle to this moment where he realizes, almost jarringly, how wrong he may have been. That the great fight against what nature bestowed him retreats within your stronghold. The worry is silenced, the weight lifted, the burden removed. He isn’t a soldier, but a man. 

Only a man. So simple, and so freeing. 

“Stay with me?” you mumble as if you can read his mind, letting his fingers slip from your lips, and already drifting to a place somewhere deep between sleep and wake. It’s a single question worth a million, holding the weight of your existence, the entire world. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows that if he stays, no amount of self-control will prevent him from indulging your needs over and over again. He knows how brittle his distaste is—was, a façade—and how quickly he will devote himself to you. 

You’re all he would require to live and breathe. 

Most terrifying, he knows the primal urge will only continue to spread. And for some purpose far beyond him, while he’s coated in your scent and slick and the haven of your arms, he won’t be able to find a reason to stop himself from sinking his teeth into that sweet spot upon your neck. 

He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, your kindness, you. You’re a chance at redemption, something he is certain he relinquished decades ago. You’re an opportunity, an outlet to release his grief, his anger, his hatred for this world and his place in it, and turn it into devotion, protection. 

He doesn’t deserve it. 

But the way you look at him now, head nuzzled against his chest, pupil-blown eyes the picture of vulnerability, it satisfies the beast. Sets every nerve ending on fire. Tugs him forward frighteningly taut, unable to recoil. 

You look at him like you need him. 

And he needs to be needed. It’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Alright,” he whispers. “I’ll stay.” 

[alwaysthefool]

Your turn to be a cat (x Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Xavier)

Warnings: Suggestive, might have minor spoilers for cat companion memories, kinda cringe ngl

Tags: Fluff (literally), MC/Reader, no gendered pronouns for you

Synopsis: This time, you’re the one who gets a cat tail and a second set of ears.

Zayne

“When you said medical emergency, this isn’t what I had in mind.” Zayne looked at your ears, a first aid kid in his hand. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since you texted him, telling him it was something dire and you couldn’t go to the hospital, and there he was, at your door, stifling a smile.

“Don’t laugh!” You scolded him, turning red, the tail you tried to hide inside your hoodie peeking out. You grabbed it immediately, forcing it back in. You pulled him inside, shutting the door to your apartment.

“Don’t fold your tail, it’ll be bad for your back.” Zayne spoke, taking off his shoes and keeping the first aid kit near the entrance. “And besides, it’s very cute.”

The tail made its way back out, and listening to your doctor’s advice, you let it be. “Help me out my hoodie.” You demanded, and Zayne couldn’t help but laugh at your tone, carefully helping you out your hoodie so as to not bother your sensitive ears, one of his hands holding down your t-shirt from riding up.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, curling up on the couch, your tail swaying against its will. Zayne made his way next to you, unable to stop himself from touching it. “It’s really soft.” He observed, his large hand stroking it lightly.

“Quit playing around!” You whined, not really wanting him to stop, but being the gentleman he was, he did, not taking revenge for how you treated him when he was a cat. “How do I make it go away?”

“Can I have a closer look at your tail?” Zayne asked, and you hissed, earning a laugh out of him. “Alright, I won’t look, but you shouldn’t be shy around your doctor, especially when you’re the one who called me here.”

“You’re not just my doctor…” You looked up at him a little hopefully, tail swaying again.

Zayne smiled. “You’re right, I suppose I’m your vet now.”

You pouted, walking away from him in feline elegance, taking your place on the adjacent arm chair, lying on it with your tail in the air. “How did you feel when you were a cat?”

“Needy.” Zayne admitted, after some thought.

Like a cat, you wanted something, but you were too proud to admit it. “Then…” You sat up on the chair, gazing at him, tail swaying behind you. “How do you, how do you… how do you think I must be feeling right now?” You shied away immediately, cat ears perking up.

Zayne would take care of you, no matter what, so before you knew it, you were on his lap, his large hands stroking your ears. “If you wanted me, you should’ve just said so.”

You purred, nuzzling on his chest, holding on to him tightly, as his hands worked on your ears and tail. “You knew.”

“Maybe.” Zayne spoke into your ear. Your heightened senses could listen to his racing heart, and his gushing blood. “But I really wanted to hear you ask.”

Rafayel

Honestly, he’d be EMPATHETHIC loool

You were supposed to accompany him for an event, but as you put on your dress, you felt cold from behind. Looking in the mirror, you saw a tail pulling your dress up, and a pair of ears on your head. You yelped, turning the lights off, and hiding in a corner. This couldn’t be happening.

“Cutie, what was that?” Rafayel called from outside the door. You had the misfortune of being at his house when it happened too. You quietly opened the window, to make it seem like maybe you ran away. You would, too, but you couldn’t be seen in public like that.

“I’m coming in!” Rafayel called upon hearing the sound of the window opening. You quietly hid under his bed.

Rafayel was already in his suit and tie, giving off a certain scent which made him seem oddly delectable.

“Where did you go…” He mumbled, looking at the open window. You could only see his feet now, so you couldn’t tell what he was doing, until your phone buzzed. You scrambled to turn it silent, when Rafayel crouched down, peeking under the bed.

Before you knew it, you scratched him with a hiss.

“Ow!” He stood back up, and you could smell his blood. You didn’t expect yourself to do that, or for the scratch to draw blood.

You crawled out, standing up to look at his hand. “I’m so sorry!” As you realised what you did, you took your hands away from his wounded hand, trying to hide your tail.

“I, uh…” You couldn’t meet Rafayel’s eyes, scared of what he was thinking.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Rafayel sighed. “I thought a cat sneaked in.”

He saw your tail lifting up your dress, and wrapped his coat around your waist. You still turned away from him, looking guilty. “Cutie, look at me.” He called gently. “It was just a scratch, and you didn’t mean it.”

You looked up at him, and his face was gentle, nothing like you expected. “Why did you hide from me?” He asked, his hands on your cheeks.

“I thought you’d be disgusted of me. I’m a cat, after all.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He coaxed you, pulling you into a hug. “I could never be disgusted by you. I told you before, right? I’d love you even if you were a worm.”

You let out a laugh, hugging him back, pulling him down on the bed behind you. He kept holding you, surprised by the sudden affection. “And you’re also the only cute cat in the world.”

Sylus

SUGGESTIVE

This was bad. Sylus would never let you live it down, but you also had no choice but to tell him. Your first thought after being turned into half a cat was volunteering at the cat café, so you’d get to spend time around the kitties, but that isn’t what the OTTO had in mind when giving you that outfit. Now you needed someone to help you out there.

“Are you done?” The OTTO asked, its tone irritated.

You remained dead silent, texting Sylus to ‘smash that devilish robot into pieces’.

You heard commotion outside, then some banging, thinking maybe, finally, Sylus had arrived, leaning your ear against the door.

“Loving the new look, sweetie.” Sylus was somehow behind you, hand already on your tail. You immediately turned around to see him gaze fondly at you, who was sat leaning against the door. “Guess you’ve been affected by the cat evol too.”

You looked away from his strong gaze, suddenly very aware of what OTTO made you wear. A short maid dress, with an opening at the back for your tail, and chiffon gloves with a cat paw stitched on them. Before you could change back, the sinister robot stole your clothes.

“I’m pleased you decided to call me in such a situation.”

“Shut up…” You mumbled.

“That’s no way to speak to the person who saved you, kitten.” This time, that word held a whole new meaning.

“I’m… sorry.” You forced, ears drooping down. You looked up at him with a pout, and he pet you behind the ears. You rubbed your head against his head, until you realised what you were doing, forcing yourself to stop. You cleared your throat.

“That’s rare coming from you.” He teased, fingers dancing around your jaw. There was a certain scent to them, so you bit him, though not hard enough to draw blood. Sylus winced, pulling back. “There’s the kitten I know.”

“Did you bring a change of clothes like I asked?”

Sylus hummed in response, not really focusing on anything other than playing with your hair and ears, hands trickling down to where your tail was, pulling at the ribbons of the dress, acting more like a cat than you. You leaned in to him, and he placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck.

Understanding where this was going, you reluctantly held his arm. “Mm, let’s not, I’m super hairy right now.” You said, referring to all the cat fuzz.

“That’s fine.” Sylus whispered into your ear. “I prefer it like that.”

Xavier

“Ugh…” You groaned, still sleepy. You had work pending, but for some reason, you couldn’t keep your eyes open despite having a lot of sleep and a cup of coffee, Knowing Xavier was often in the same predicament, you went to his floor, hoping he had some insanely potent energy drinks on him.

He opened the door, also groggy, but straightening up when he saw you. “Hey.” You greeted, intending to yawn but letting out a ‘meow’ instead.

“That was strange.” You tried to laugh it off. Xavier let you inside, and you explained that you were uncharacteristically sleepy the whole day.

“How do you manage to stay up?” You were sat on his fuzzy carpet, pulling at it.

Xavier smiled, sitting down next to you. “I think there might be another reason you’re so sleepy today.” He opened his phone’s front camera, facing it towards you.

“W-what’s that?” You cried, hands going towards the ears on your head and tail behind you.

“Cats might need up to 16 hours of sleep a day.” Xavier put his phone down, leaning his elbow on the coffee table, his other hand gently touching your ear. “If you have work, I’ll do it for you.”

“Really?” Your tail moved in excitement.

Xavier nodded, as he went downstairs to get your laptop. You prowled around his house, trying to fall asleep on his bed, then looking in his fridge for something to eat, restless and impatient, irritated that you were unable to fall asleep despite being sleepy. You looked for several spots, but nothing was snug enough.

That was until you saw Xavier typing your mission reports on his laptop. You crawled over to him on all fours, setting your head down on his lap. He gave your head a few scratches, helping you fall asleep.

Despite not being a cat anymore, Xavier couldn’t help feel sleepy seeing you safely under him. Perhaps cats could sense people’s feelings, because you spoke, half asleep “Put that aside Xavi, come cuddle with me.”

Eventually, the work was discarded, and Xavier held you on his couch, legs intertwined, head buried in his chest, his arms around you protectively, pretty dreams and soft feelings warm enough for you to get through whatever your supervisors would have to say.

[aliidarling]

Ok so reader only know ghostface without the mask and one day catches him take off his mask during a kill and she says that’s hot and he finds out she has a mask kink and maybe like predator prey with squirting ?

He’s lucky she’s into bad boys. Fluff to nsfw

make you mine

ETHAN LANDRY x fem!reader

nsfw content — pls scroll if uncomfortable!

summary: you have a study date with your crush and walk in on him wearing his silly ghostface robe

warnings: smut, p in v, blood, oral, light choking, creampie, sweet and mean ethan kinda, mask kink, ethan is our cute psycho bae

i hope you like it :) i’m sorry i didn’t really know how to include predator prey

nsfw content below !!

it had been a few months since you met ethan. he was all you’ve ever wanted— sweet, caring, smart, and dorky. you were into all the same things, from star wars down to gaming. the only thing that wasn’t identical between the two of you were your study habits.

you wouldn’t say you were a troubled student, no, you were struggling student. you needed help, and who’s better to help you then your hot crush who happens to be a straight A+ student?

you had talked it over with him the other day and you both agreed you’d come down to his dorm tonight for a study date— session. he said chad was with tara tonight so it would be just the two of you, ridding you of chads loud yelling. chad was nice, you loved him, but he could get quite a bit annoying when it comes to his gaming or sports shows.

so here you stood, knocking on ethan’s dorm door. silence is all that answered you. you were quite annoyed, you had been standing here for a few minutes now, staring at the wood in your face and waiting for it to open. but thus, no answer. worst part? you could hear the sound of someone walking around and moving things inside. ethan was home. was he ignoring you?

“ethan?” you call out, now getting a little worried. there had been a killer on the loose recently, going by the name ghostface. his shrieking mouth and wide black eyes lingered in your head, for good and bad reasons you didn’t wanna discuss. a voice whispered in your ear, telling you ethan was in trouble inside.

your hand found its way on the handle and slowly turned it, blinking in surprise when it opens with a small creak. it wasn’t like ethan or chad to leave their door ever unlocked. odd.

you step in and immediately freeze at the sight of blood trails on the ground, splattered over the floor and leading to ethan’s room. you gulp nervously and quickly lock the door behind you, worriedly rushing to his kitchen to grab a knife before slowly walking towards his bedroom.

you peeked your head in, looking around the dark young adult room. he had a large bed in the corner of the room, with dozens of pillows and a plaid navy blue blanket, his clothes hanging on the edges. his desk was next to his bed, also working as his nightstand, with his gaming set up on the top. you loved his gaming set up, it was always fun to play on it or watch him play himself.

but it wasn’t how messy his room was that had you gaping in shock— no, it was the sight of him standing in the middle of the room with his back to you, black robe stained with bloody smears on his body, and a familiar mask in his hands. he was looking around the room in a rush, trying to change out of it quickly before you came, you assumed.

“ethan?” you choked out, your voice pathetically small.

he jumps at the sound of your voice, immediately turning to face you. his eyes are wide, brown curls messy and his plump lips parted in surprise. horror takes over his expression as he gawks at you, holding the mask silently for a moment before shoving it behind his mask.

“what are you doing here?” he coughs awkwardly.

you gaze at him, blinking dumbly.

“we.. had.. a study da— session.”

“..right.” he gulps hard. he didnt forget, of course he didn’t. he had been freaking out all week about having the perfect night with you. he was gonna play a movie and study with you and play some games— not whatever the hell this is.

“..you’re.. the ghostface.” you mumble and step forward, shutting the door behind you. he blinks in surprise at your easiness and how you weren’t on your knees crying. you were calm. collected. it freaked him out a little.

“you’re not screaming and crying.” he comments, dark eyes staring you down as you finally step face to face with him. a small smile tugs at your lips, hands going to gently pull the mask from his hands to look over the white plastic now stained red.

“i’m just glad you’re okay,” you mumble, rubbing the blood smudge, “i saw the blood trail and assumed the worst.” you smile up at him. he shudders.

this was weird. you weren’t scared at all. no, you were giving him bedroom eyes and showing your pretty little smile at him. he wants to scoop you up already.

“you do realize i’m the ghostface, right?” he scoffs, one hand going to gently take your chin. his robe and bloody appearance gives him more confidence, letting him take ahold of your face to pull him closer. “the same dude who’s been trying to kill all our friends.”

he doesn’t miss the way your cheeks burn up at his touch. a small grin appears on his face. he couldn’t of fallen in love with a more perfect woman.

“as long as you don’t hurt me.” you smile sheepishly and look him up and down, scanning his attire more clearly now that you’re up close. it’s slightly sparkly, the fabric glistening from his led lights.

“i would never hurt you.” he coo’s, gently rubbing his thumb against your porcelain skin. his gloves are thick but you can still feel his warmth against your skin, rubbing a small amount of blood onto your skin. he smiles at the contrast of your cute face with the blood stain.

your lips part by themselves as you look up at him, lashes batting. he takes one good look at your face and immediately knows what you want. one hand wraps around your small waist and the other tangles itself in your hair, pulling you against his lips with a small moan.

the kiss is gentle and slow, soft pants leaving the two of you between each kiss. your skin felt milky in his hands. you had imagined the two of you kissing many times— during your lunch break and when you had movie nights with the whole friend group, but you never imagined it like this.

with blood all over him, the ghostface mask in your hand and his rough hands gently scooping you up into his arms. his muscles have never been more prominent, making you cling tighter and let out a small moan into his lips. he groans at your soft little noise, pulling you closer and starting to walk you towards his bed.

with a soft thud your back hits the mattress, blinking up at him with a flushed expression and a smile creeping onto your lips. he begins to put his mask off to the side before you quickly catch his wrist, “wait, don’t.” you say. he frowns down at you in surprise, brow raising up.

“don’t what?” he hums in amusement.

“keep.. it.. on.” you mutter hesitantly.

oh, you were gonna be the death of him for sure. your cute little smile and big eyes blinking up at him innocently, as if you didn’t just ask him to fuck you in his mask. he can’t help but immediately smash his lips back onto yours, taking advantage of the last few seconds he’ll be able to kiss you.

his hands are gentle with you but in a hurry as he tugs down your clothes, pulling down your bottoms and yanking your top off you. he’s trying be careful— but he can’t wait any longer for your sweet taste.

“i’m gonna use my mouth on you and then i’ll put the mask on, okay?” he whispers, glancing at you with pleading brown eyes. you nod meekly and part your thighs, watching as he lowers his head between them and presses a soft kiss to your folds. you let out a soft exhale at that, your hands going to tangle themselves in his soft hair. you make sure you don’t accidentally pull his hair too hard.

his lips aren’t very experienced when it comes to pleasing women but he tries his best, sucking at your clit while his gloved fingers prod at your hole, gently sliding in a finger and curling it up into your g-spot. the noise you make motivates him further, his sucking increasing in its pressure as he wiggles his finger.

“please, just like that-“ you gasp, your legs finding their way over his shoulders. your feet kick lightly against his muscular back, eyes fluttered shut in bliss and mouth agape with noises falling out like a broken record.

he hums, muffled by your pussy. the vibration makes you shiver and clench down on his fingers. he notices and decides to add in his second finger, giving your clit a few little nibbles to distract you from the stretch. you whine lewdly and he chuckles lightly.

a few more minutes are spent of him slowly building you up until you fall over the edge, moaning happily as he drives his thick fingers deeper and deeper until you cum on his fingers, some of it getting on his chin. his lower face glows with your essence, parting after a moment with a slow breath.

“so perfect for me.” his lips perk up, hands going to tug at your waist, pulling you further down the bed until your right under him. he kneels over you, grabbing his mask and pulling it back on. your reaction is immediate, cheeks flushing at the sight of the tall masked man, bloody mask and robe looming over your naked form.

“never thought you’d be into this, doll.” he muses, feeling a switch in his personality with the confidence the mask gives him. his hands are quick to pull his robe aside, pulling his hard cock out from his sweatpants. it slaps against his abdomen with a soft squelch, the pre cum glistening with his tip throbbing red.

“gonna be a good girl and take this cock?” he asks gently, crawling over you.

“yes ghostface..” you giddily smile, grinning up at him as he presses your thighs to your chest and giving him access to your core. he smiles under his mask in approval, gently rubbing circles on your thighs, before pressing his head against your opening. he watches your face as he slowly inches it in, going deeper and deeper into your gummy walls, splitting you apart in his girth.

“fuck, feels s’good ethan.” you say in an almost whiny tone, gawking at the stretch and how good it feels to have your best friend finally dick you down the way you’ve been imagining for months. you’re rendered speechless as he impales you slowly and gently, relishing in how you moan so pretty.

“it’s ghostface to you, baby.” he corrected with a cocky tone. once the words leave his mouth, he delivers a harsh thrust into you, making you bite down and squeak. the stretch is barely there anymore— your wetness letting him easily make his home inside you.

“s-sorry, sorry, please ghostface—“ you quickly replied, chest heaving up and down as he starts a pace. your mouth falls open as his fat head slams against your cervix, hands holding your thighs tightly down with an almost bruising grip. when you imagined finally having sex with him, you pictured gentle and slow love making, not this.

his shrieking expression stared down at you emotionlessly, the blood reminding you he had just murdered someone before pushing his cock inside you. their blood was all over the room, staining the floor and now your porcelain skin. and for some odd reason, your pussy clamped down on him harder at that.

“you’re— so— so damn, tight—“ he hisses lowly, a guttural groan coming from him. he harshly slams inside you, one of his hands going to wrap around your throat and squeeze. the choking catches you off guard, blinking up at him in distraught before whimpering pathetically.

he snickers at that. “such a god damn whore,” he laughs, squeezing your airway gently while thrusting harder and harder into your pussy. “moaning like a slut while the blood of an innocent person gets all over them.” he huffs.

he pulls himself down, pressing his chest against your thighs. “my slut, right?” he coos in an almost sweet tone, mocking you no doubt. you nod with a muffled cry, feeling your orgasm near once again. he could feel himself growing close to his climax as well, his cock throbbing intensely inside you.

“fuck— fuck, gonna cum? gonna cum for me?” he gives your thigh a little swat before pressing his rough fingers against your clit, pinching and rubbing it harshly as you squeal. he doesn’t let up on his pace at all, rather taking your choked up noises as more reason to go harder.

your nod is eager and messy, big watery eyes gazing up at his mask. your pussy was too tight and he could feel himself cumming already, his thrusts slowing down until he gives you one last little jerk of his hips. a soft sigh leaves him as your walls spasm around him tightly. his eyes widen in shock as you squirt all over his cock and robe, a gasp leaving the two of you.

it’s silence for a moment before he starts snickering, staring down at the mess you made of his robe. your cheeks turn red and you weakly sit up, blinking at him with dazed eyes and swollen lips. he could see the light mark his hand made around your neck, making him almost harden again.

“s-shut up, i didn’t know i could do that!” you hiss defensively, blushing and squeezing your thighs shut. he laughs and shakes his head, pulling his mask off and shaking his curls free.

“dont worry about it baby, just lay back. lemme clean you up and then maybe we can do that studying.” he snorts. you roll your eyes and reluctantly lay back down, staring at him.

“are you, uh, actually ghostface?” your small question breaks the silence as he fixes you up. he scowls down at you.

“yeah, dumbass.”

[evie-sturns]

geronimo - 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙤

summary: after matt suprises you and your daughter with an at-home petting zoo, your toddler has quite a hard time saying bye to geronimo the hedgehog.

contains: girl dad!matt, fluff, crying, tantrums, swearing.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"mama! look at germ-noni-mo!" layla squeals as she gently picks up the small hedgehog, a wide smile spread across her face.

she crouches down on the floor, clutching the hedgehog in her hands as matt sits on the couch.

"matt- you literally have to stop these suprises." i giggle, staring at the array of farm animals in my living room.

"god he does this all the time." nick laughs, crouching down beside a pig.

"look- laylas loving it though." matt smirks as layla trots over to the couch with geronimo clutched in her tiny hands.

"is she spiky?" i ask layla with an exaggerated gasp,

layla shakes her head, "no! he- he's just- i dont know" she smiles, bouncing up and down excitably.

"chris- that guinea pig is about to crawl up your shirt- be careful." matt giggles,

chris hands the guinea pig back to the keeper with a small laugh.

the petting zoo keeper starts to put the various farm animals back in the cage, securing them tightly and placing them in the line.

"layla, i think geronimo needs to go back to the petting zoo now!" i say softly, a large grin on my face as i try to sound as excited as i can, knowing that laylas already attatched to the hedgehog.

her face instantly drops, she holds the animal to her chest with a pout.

the zoo keeper stands beside layla, "im sorry sweetie! just gonna have to grab him from you." she says softly,

layla shakes her head with a whine, "but- no!"

"come on layla." i whisper, gently removing the hedgehog from her hands and handing it to the keeper.

i look over at nick, whos watching the whole situation unfold with a small grimace, chris stands beside him as layla continues to whine.

the zoo keeper genty puts geronimo back in his cage before packing up, ready to leave.

"but- mama- daddy no!" layla squeals, folding her arms as her eyes well up with tears.

"shhh, inside voice please sweetheart." matt instantly cuts her off, standing up off the couch and picking her up.

nick and chris help the zoo keeper load the cages out of the house into the van as matt and i try to cool down layla.

matt holds layla in his arms as he carefully walks down the hallway into matt and i’s bedroom.

i follow close behind, ready for the intense tantrum that’s on its way

matt sits down on the floor with layla, who’s absolutely fuming now.

i decide to let matt handle, so i start to clean up our room by wiping down the desk.

suddenly my ears are pierced with a blood curdling squeal.

“i want gern-oni-mo!!” layla screams, her little face fuming.

“layla no, we don’t use that voice inside, enough.” matt says sternly, grabbing her wrist as he holds her still.

“no! you stole him from me!” she yells, slapping her small hands at matt’s large wrist.

“enough, no hitting.” matt warns, his hands holding her sides.

she pouts as her bottom lips trembles, she folds her arms over her chest and plops down onto the floor in a fit.

“look at me layla.” matt speaks, his voice is firm but not raised.

“no!” she whines, balling up her fists at her sides.

i sit down on the desk chair, watching the whole situation unfold, letting matt handle this one.

matt reaches out to adjust her small pigtail, but he screams again.

“layla, enough.” matt raises his voice, standing up off the floor and looking down at layla.

layla goes quiet,

matt never yells at her. she’s basically his little princess, matt could never bring himself to be mad at his sweet girl.

her bottom lip trembles,

her eyes glaze over,

and she bursts into tears.

“oh sweetheart.” matt sighs, a hint of frustration still clear in his voice, but his tone is softer now.

he leans down and picks layla up, holding her in his tattooed arms.

he sits down on the bed with her, his large hands resting on her cheeks, gently wiping her tears.

“shh, shh.” matt whispers softly, peppering kisses to her damp nose.

“i understand you’re upset about the hedgehog, but what if i told you daddy had a suprise!” matt smiles encouragingly.

laylas ears perk up, she lets out a small hiccup as she nods.

“how about, on saturday, we take you to the petting zoo to visit geronimo!” matt grins,

instantly she cracks a small smile, she buries her face in matt’s shirt, trying to hide the fact she’s happy.

“yeah? you like that idea?” matt asks, gently pulling her away from his chest.

she nods frantically with a big smile plastered across her face

“you’ll get to give geronimo a big cuddle!” matt speaks, gently grabbing her chin and wiggling her face.

layla stands up on the mattress, bouncing up and down happily before jumping on top of matt.

“dada!” layla claps,

“do we- do we get to hold him aswell!” she giggles,

“yeah you do! of course!” matt grins,

layla squeals out of excitement,

“now can i have a hug?” matt asks gently, opening his arms.

layla fully body slams herself into matt, matt gently wraps his arms around her and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“i didn’t mean to make you upset earlier princess, but remember that using your inside voice is necessary.” matt whispers into her ear, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

she nods with a small pout,

matt puts his finger on her bottom lip, “what’s gotcha so pouty!” he smiles, gently pushing her small lips back.

she giggles,

“alright, now let’s get you some snacks.” matt speaks, standing up off the couch and picking up layla.

he carries her down the long hallway into the kitchen,

“are the carrots okay for your teeth? or would you like me to cut them up.” he asks layla, rummaging through the fridge,

“carrots ‘s okay!” she says, grabbing the whole carrot out of matt’s hand and gnawing on it.

matt carries layla down to the living room, plopping her down on the couch and putting on spongebob.

“you call me if you need anything okay? i’m just gonna be with mommy.” he tells layla,

she’s too absorbed in the tv to respond,

i hear matt’s gradual footsteps coming down the hallway until he reaches our room,

he walks in with a smug expression,

“did you see that? i’m a professional!” matt laughs, flopping down on the bed beside me,

“you are so adorable when you try to cheer her up.” i grin, resting my head on matt’s chest.

“but i do a pretty good job!” matt defends himself, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me ontop of him.

“mmmm.” i hum with a smile,

“you know i do!” he protests,

“okay maybe you do,” i crack with a smile,

matt nods with a smug smile, “what can i say.”

“such a good daddy.” i giggle, burying my face into matt’s shirt.

“oh my god- enough with that corny daddy shit.” matt groans, jabbing his fingers against my ribs.

“i saw the opportunity and took it.” i laugh,

i lay ontop of matt, propped up on my elbows so my face is inches from his.

i lean down and press my lips to his,

i can feel his smiles as he kisses me back, rolling us over so he’s ontop of me.

he peppers kisses all over my face,

“i got layla distracted with spongebob, we have some alone time.” matt whispers,

“so romantic.” i tease,

-

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos

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[auroralwriting]

wait for your love

spencer reid x fem!liaison!reader

after joining the bau eight months ago, you and spencer quickly became close. too close, to be just friends, that is.

word count: 2k

warnings: comfort and fluff, no use of y/n, mutual pining, (un)reciprocated feelings, spencer's love-blind, he only likes your touch, vague hints at spencer's autism, playful flirting

Spencer Reid was all you'd ever wanted. He was a sweet, smart, charming, a gentleman. He understood your thoughts and feelings. He made time for you, and actually, the two of you spent a great deal of time together on a daily basis. It was rare you'd go more than two days without seeing the resident genius.

You were even the rare exception to his physical touch boundaries-- he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Holding your hand or interlocking your pinkies was a common form of touch you shared. Hugs, cuddling, and sharing beds wasn't uncommon, either. Usually on cases, you roomed together, even if you had separate rooms. You were Spencer Reid's solace, even more so-- simply his person.

The only issue? He was just your best friend.

For as close as the two of you were, no, you weren't dating. No, you had no clue how he felt about you. Sometimes it felt like he reciprocated your feelings, but then he'd go and call you something like his best friend. So, maybe he didn't reciprocate the feelings. But that was fine, you were still in his life and he was in yours. That was all that mattered, right?

You barreled into Spencer's hotel room the moment he opened the door from your rapid knocks.

Spencer watched as you flopped face-first on his bed with a chuckle, "Hello to you, too." He walked over to where you laid, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Can you guys please profile this douche any quicker?" You groaned into his pillow, the whine of your voice making Spencer smile. "I'm seriously done with the press on this one. I cannot take another call from stupid Heather Young."

"Who's Heather Young?" Spencer asked as you flipped yourself over quickly, sitting up to face him.

Begrudgingly, you pointed to the small TV that sat in front of his bed. "She's some nosey, obsessive, and pestering news reporter who wants the full coverage story on this case." You sighed. Heather Young truly was testing every limit you had. Her phone calls boarded on stalker, at least one an hour, if not more. You'd tried to block her number, but she found another phone to use. "She won't leave me alone. I swear, Spence, every hour this woman calls!"

Spencer knew all too well the struggles of being a liaison, and this was one of them. Dealing with obnoxious reporters and pestering questions would frustrate him to no end. That's why he admired you so much, for your tolerance and patience.

Your phone rang, and you groaned, turning back over and letting yourself fall face-first back into Spencer’s pillow. He chuckled, grabbing your phone and shutting it off so you wouldn’t receive any more calls for the night. “See? Problem solved,”

“Until six a.m when she calls me trying to get an inside scoop,” your muffled voice whined.

“You’re so grumpy,” Spencer chuckled, leaning on his arm beside you. “Come on, don’t let some stupid news reporter get you like this.”

Maybe if you'd looked closer, harder, you would've noticed the adoration in the genius's eyes. However, you just rolled your eyes and scoffed at his words. "M not grumpy,"

Spencer chuckled, poking your side teasingly. "You definitely are," He chuckled at the way you squeaked, shooting upward at the ticklish sensation.

"Spence!"

"If I were to look up the definition for grumpy, your name would be its definition." Spencer continued to softly poke at your ribs and sides, causing giggles to spew from your lips like an endless waterfall. It was music to Spencer's ears.

"Spencer!" You tried to whine, but it came out as laughter instead.

After a minute or so of his relentless attack, Spencer eased. "See? Not so grumpy anymore. I just know the grumpy cure."

"Tickling me is not a cure," You argued, crossing your arms as you sat criss-crossed in front of him. When Spencer went to reach forward, you sucked in a breath, "Okay, okay! Consider me cured!"

Spencer just chuckled at your words. "Admit it, you were grumpy. I could tell based on the way you threw yourself onto my bed." Spencer joked. He wasn't wrong. His hand, instead of poking, found its way to your side, but it gently caressed you in a sweet motion.

With another roll of your eyes, you smiled, letting Spencer know wordlessly he was right. His touch was soft and comforting. Spencer's touch, no matter how it's given, was the cure.

The moment was broken when your phone buzzed, a text from JJ lighting up your screen. For a moment, ignoring it was a highly considerable option, until you realized you were still on a case, and it could be important.

"Who's that?" Spencer asked, looking over your shoulder as you grabbed your phone from his bedside table.

"JJ," You simply stated.

Where are you? The text read.

With Spence, need anything?

Why can't you ever stay in your own rooms, SMH!! Wanted to see if you're ready to give the profile tomorrow?

You chuckled at her text, As ready as I'll ever be

KK, I won't bother you two lovebirds anymore! Enjoy Spencer time!!!

Spencer grinned at the texts. "You don't think she's going to read into that, do you?"

"She already does," You shrugged, setting your phone back down. "The whole team always asks, 'When are you and Spencer getting together?,' 'When are you finally gonna date?,' blah, blah, blah."

With an eyebrow now raised, Spencer felt himself become surprised at your response. While he speculated there was some sort of, well, suspicion about the two of you, he was never on the receiving end of any of it. Apparently, that's because you were. "How many people have asked about us? Just the team?"

"Just them," You paused, considering his question. "Wait, you don't know about this?"

Spencer became more confused at your tone, "No, I don't."

"They think we're madly in love or something," you chuckled, trying to hide your true feelings, "talking about our future little genius-liaison babies."

The genius's mind became scattered, flooded with images of the two of you that his mind created in a moments notice. Children, marriage, love. It felt so surreal picturing you, yet so right. "Did you ever deny it?"

"For the first few months," You confirmed with a solid nod. "I just don't really entertain it anymore. I don't see them stopping anytime soon."

Spencer nodded, clearing his throat. "You haven't let them think it's true though, right?"

"Why?" You asked, his words confusing you. "Is there some sort of problem being with me?"

You felt defensive at his words. Maybe this was his way of telling you the feelings aren't reciprocated. Maybe, all along, you were playing the fool. This stupid, silly little mistake of a crush was mere moments from destroying your closest friendship. You wished you could swallow this whole conversation down like bad medicine and pretend it never happened.

Spencer paused for a moment, your question making his heart drop. "Why would you ask me that?" He softly asked.

"Just--" You sighed, turning over to lay on your side that faced away from him. As much as this sucked, you couldn't see yourself leaving him, either. "forget about it, Spence."

You were upset now, that much was apparent. Spencer couldn't tell if it was about the team, or his response. He wasn't good at talking to girls, let alone about romance. Spencer softly laid on his side, wrapping his arm around your middle and trying to gently pull you into him.

"Spence, it's really fine, just--" You knew this play. You knew he was going to give you the softest affection to try and get you to open up.

"It's not fine, you're upset." Spencer observed, a gentle firmness behind his voice. He hated it when you closed in on yourself.

Adamant about not moving, Spencer realized his efforts were useless; you weren't going to budge. So, he scooted closer until front was pressed against your back, practically spooning you. When your body went rigid against his, Spencer felt disappointment seep into his heart. You always melted into him. Ever so softly, Spencer let his free hand come up and begin to massage your scalp, slowly playing with your hair ever so often.

Like memory, your body began to relax into his, just the way he wanted it to. Of course, it was against your better judgement, but soft moments with Spencer Reid was what you lived for.

Spencer smiled against your shoulder, his efforts weren't so fruitless after all. "You're so stubborn," Spencer mumbled into your shoulder.

"M not stubborn," you muttered in reply, heat rising to your cheeks at his words.

"Yes, you are." Spencer said, giving you a small squeeze. It made you giggle in reply, making Spencer's heart thump loudly in his chest. Could you hear it, too? "You never answered me before,"

You hummed, "Hmm?"

Spencer said your name slowly, a growl of a warning. He needed to fix whatever happened. There was no way he was going to let you stay upset at him.

"I asked you that because.." you hesitated. "I don't know. would there be a problem being with me?"

At your soft words, Spencer realized what had happened. He'd been a fool and insulted you. How could he ever do such a thing? "Of course there wouldn't be a problem being with you," he breathed softly into your ear.

"Then.." you paused, "then why aren't we, I don't know, together?" You rolled over to face him. "I mean, we do this," Your hands waved in the air, motioning to your current position with the genius. "We're always together. We even sleep over! Even the team asks me why we aren't together and--"

Spencer felt shock flood his system at your confession. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was he reading this right?

"Just, why? Is it me?"

Taking a deep breath, Spencer choked down his fears. "I've been.. scared."

"Scared?" Your desperation morphed into one of curiosity and confusion at his words.

"Scared," Spencer confirmed softly. "I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if you even wanted this.. us,"

Humor slowly filled the situation. Maybe you'd both been fools, but not in the way you'd originally thought. "Do you really think I cuddle with all my best friends?"

Spencer raised a brow at your words. Yeah, he felt unbelievably stupid. How could he not have seen it before? "No, I suppose not." He meekly replied, a small smile growing on his lips. "Does that mean you-you really want to be my girlfriend?"

A chuckle escaped your lips, "Spencer Reid, you ought to know better than to assume. Don't you know what that makes you?"

He smiled in return, rephrasing his question. "You want to be my girlfriend."

"I do," you smiled.

"I want to be your boyfriend," Spencer replied with a now wide grin on his face.

You felt your heart skip a beat, "I want that, too."

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Spencer asked, the question feeling like one of a middle-school boy. Nothing else felt right to say, though. Nothing felt as sweet and innocent as this moment did.

A finger patted your chin as you faked deep thought. "I don't know, it's a lot to consider."

Spencer let out a small laugh, propping himself up. He moved over top of you, his weight now on his forearms as you stared up at him. "Oh, really now?"

"Yeah, being tied down is a lot, you know?"

He leaned down closer to you, so close you could feel the tip of his nose grazing your own. "Tied down," he chuckled with amusement.

"That begs your question; should I be your girlfriend?"

"I say yes," Spencer said, his lips mere centimeters from your own.

Staring down at his lips, you whisper, "I say yes, too."

Like a moment of explosion, your lips meshed perfectly with Spencer's. It felt like everything you'd dreamt of thus far. Poor Spencer, he was in absolute bliss. He felt like he'd been waiting this day his whole life and another. It was magic, heaven, and unbridled passion.

"Stay here tonight?" Spencer whispered as he pulled back, lips tingling with the feeling of you.

"Always," you smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

[hanniebaeee]

Baby Fever

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: baby talks?

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Summary: You and Chan are at a baby store, shopping for a friend's baby shower. And your husband experiences baby fever for the very first time.

The minute you step into the store, it feels like you've stepped into some kind of wonderland. The soft pastel shades, and soothing music in the background are just so overwhelmingly cute. You and Chan stroll through the store, browsing through the shelves for some gifts for your friend's baby shower.

You split up briefly, as you look through some cute little onesies, and Chan wanders away. A few minutes later, you realize that it's a bit too quiet, and Chan is nowhere to be seen. You look around, placing the onsie back in its place and your eyes search for your lost husband.

You start weaving through the aisles, your phone in hand to give him a call. And that's when you spot him.

Chan is standing in front of a display of baby shoes. In his hands is the tiniest pair of pastel blue baby shoes you've ever seen. His eyes are filled with awe, his lips curled into the softest smile.

You couldn't help but smile, leaning against a nearby shelf.

"Channie... everything ok?"

He jumps slightly, turning to look at you with wide eyes.

"Aren't these the cutest?" he asks, holding up the shoes like they were the most precious thing in the world. His voice is so full of excitement, you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"They are cute," you tease, walking closer.

"So tiny!" Chan says, his cheeks glowing pink.

"They're baby shoes Channie, of course they're tiny." You say softly.

"But," Chan doesn't look like he understands. "How can anyone have such tiny feet?!"

You giggle watching him examine the little shoes in his hand, and it's just so pure and wholesome, your heart swells with love.

"That's how babies work, Chan. They have tiny feet, tiny hands... tiny everything!" You say, touching his arm gently.

"I know...its just, different, seeing it like this." Chan looks completely gone by now.

"What's on your mind, baby?" You ask, seeing the way Chan was so lost in the little thing. "Do you want to buy these for Jisoo?"

"What? No." Chan says quickly, holding the boots to his chest. "What if we… you know… need them someday?"

His cheeks are so red by now. You stare at your husband, trying to wrap your head around what he's trying to say. Sure, you've talked about babies before. You both want to have kids one day. But you've never really thought when.

You raise an eyebrow, amusement bubbling up inside you.

"Someday?"

Chan grins shyly, his ears turning slightly pink.

"You know…maybe... for our baby?" His voice is so low, you can barely hear him.

You bite your lip so you don't laugh, not because of the suggestion itself, but because of how adorably serious he looks.

"Chan, you can't just buy baby boots without a baby!" You say, covering your mouth with your hand as you laugh.

"But look at them!" He waves the tiny shoes in front of your face. "They’re so small, and soft, and—just imagine our baby in these!"

His eyes light up, and he's completely invested in this thought.

You lean in closer, your voice soft as you tease, "You can buy them once we have someone to wear them."

You wink at him and pretend it's nothing, but the effect is instantaneous. Chan’s face changes, the playful grin fading. He blinks, his lips parting slightly as his gaze locks with yours. And it's your turn to blush, as he says something that catches you completely off guard.

"Then let’s have a baby," he says, his voice soft but determined.

"Wait, what?" you stammer, as you blink in surprise.

"I mean it," he says, clutching the boots close to his heart. "If you’re up for it, I want this. I want… us to have a baby."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your heart racing as you try to process his words. He is standing in front of you, baby boots in hand, with a look that is literally melting you on the spot. It is so absurdly cute and yet so deeply romantic at the same time.

"Channie-" You begin, but he just looks at you with those puppy eyes, making you want to just give in already.

But you reach out and take his hand in yours, and say, "We're in the middle of a store, baby. Can we go home and talk about this?"

His expression softens, but he is still holding on to the boots like they meant everything to him.

"Ok." He says, smiling at you.

Later, when you both reach the checkout counter, you are billing the items when you see it. A pair of tiny pastel blue shoes sliding across the counter as the cashier scans them.

"Chan!" You hiss, giving him a look. "Are you serious right now?!"

He shrugged, a sly grin creeping up on his face. "What? You never know when we'll need them!"

"You're unbelievable."

"I just like to be prepared."

"Oh my God!" You just can't with his guy.

"I have a feeling we'll need them real soon. Just saying." He smirks at you as you shake your head at him.

Your heart skips a beat and you playfully shove him away, both of you smiling.

As you walked out of the store, you couldn't help but feel a little warmth bloom inside your chest. And as you look at Chan, you know that those shoes will come in handy sooner than you think.

[revasserium]

Pining Zoro and blind-to-it Reader?

un-certainly

opla!zoro; 3,422 words; fluff fluff fluff so much fluff, straw hat!reader, fem!reader, (seeminlgy) clueless!reader, lots of pining, banter, teasing, smitten!zoro, the whole nine yards

summary: in which everyone knows zoro's got it bad for you, except for you, of course.

one.

“so… i should just… talk to her.” zoro says uncomprehendingly, blinking at an exasperated nami, who has to take a long, steadying breath to keep from shoving him overboard. the waves beneath them are calm, the day above them, a gorgeous, endless stretch of blue so brilliant it almost pains the eyes to stare.

nami resists the urge to pinch her nose bridge as a dull ringing starts to echo in her ears.

“yes. sweet god — just go up to her and say ‘hey, i think i might like you’ and i guarantee you, things will go from there.”

zoro shifts his tightly knitted arms, squinting at her as if she might be lying or purposefully luring him into a trap, “go? so there’s a chance it could go badly.”

this time, nami really does drop her face into her hands, groaning loudly.

“well there’s always a chance it could go badly —”

“sounds like a bad idea to me.” zoro looks away, eyes still narrowed as the light sea breeze ruffles his hair, a colony of news coo squawking loudly overhead, one of them dropping down to careen towards the going merry, landing on the thick white railings next to them, ruffling it’s feathers as nami pushes off to dig in her pocket for some berry.

“oh! newspapers here!” your voice makes both zoro and nami jump, and a second later you’re bounding up the stairs to the forecastle deck and stuffing some berry into the news coo’s bag. your arm brushes by zoro’s as you lean over to offer the news coo a piece of dried shrimp, which it considers for a second before leaning forward and gobbling up.

nami gives zoro a soft shove from his other side, leveling him with a meaningful look before turning and making a show of going to check on her tangerine grove.

zoro doesn’t have time to glare before the news coo takes off with a pat-pat-pat of wings, leaving you and him very much alone on the sunny fore-deck. he purses his lips, casting about for something to say even as you hum happily to yourself, your arm still painfully close to his as you unroll the newspaper and flip though, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil of the man standing next to you.

“uh — anything interesting?” zoro asks, desperate for something, anything to fill the silence.

you shrug, “nope… just the usual — uptick in piracy along the coast, tightening of marine patrols…” you turn and cast him a grin that makes his stomach twist inside him like a contortionist from buggy’s freakshow.

zoro clears his throat, thumbing absently at the hilt of his swords before taking a deep breath.

“hey — uh…”

“hm?” you turn towards him, with your wide attentive eyes and your stomach-curling smile.

zoro blinks, his gaze flickering from your soft button nose to the way the wind twines its fingers in the loose strands of your hair. two twin pearls glitter from the lobes of your ears and he feels the tension melt from him as he sucks in another breath.

just say it, nami had said, just tell her.

really, how hard could it be?

“i uh — there’s something i wanna talk —”

“wait, hold still,” you say, your eyes going wide as you lean forward suddenly and zoro’s visions tunnels in around him — you’re close, closer, too close/too close/too close!

your fingers card through his hair and he has to bite back the shiver that rockets down his spine as you pull your hand back with a black-tipped feather.

“the news coo left you a present,” you say, laughing as you offer him the feather.

zoro considers it for a second before taking it from you.

“it could’ve left worse,” he says, recalling the few times that he’d gotten bird shit in his hair.

you giggle; the sound makes him want to scream but instead, he settles for clearing his throat again.

“now, you make a wish,” you say, nodding towards the feather in his hand.

“never heard of that before,” he frowns slightly, “thought you could only wish on dandelion seeds and…” he waves at the endless stretch of sky above you, “shooting stars and stuff.”

your smile is so wide that zoro thinks his cheeks might start to hurt for you.

“haven’t you heard that rules are meant to be broken?” you ask, offering him the feather again. he looks at you, then at the feather, and the back at you.

“okay — i wish —”

you squawk flapping your hand, “no! you can’t tell me what the wish is! otherwise, it won’t come true!”

zoro smirks, cocking an eyebrow, “i thought rules were meant to be broken?”

you blush the most darling shade of red and he decides to take it easy on you (and, honestly, himself). so, he plucks the feather from your hand and closes his eyes, making a soft, silent wish. a wish that, in truth, he’d been making since the moment he met you.

when he opens his eyes, it’s to find you staring.

“kay. now what?” he asks, rolling the feather between his thumb and forefinger.

“now…” you gently tug the feather from him before opening your palm and letting the wind whisk it away, “you let the sea take your wish. and if you’re worthy, it’ll grant the wish for you!”

zoro lets out a breathy laugh, “if i’m worthy? and how’s it supposed to know that?”

you lean in, and if it were anyone else, he might’ve been annoyed, but with you, somehow, he finds himself charmed.

your voice is conspiratorial as you whisper, “because… the ocean knows all the secrets the sky can’t keep.”

two.

at dinner, with you by his side, usopp detailing some imaginary adventure, nami laughing, sanji blowing smoke rings towards the middle of the fire-lit deck. your cheeks are pink from the wine everyone is passing around and for a second, you bump into him and turn — he turns towards you too —

your eyes catch like unsuspecting fish to a bobbing hook and zoro feels his stomach tug as you grin up at him, the night sky caught in the flutter of your lashes.

he can’t help the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, and then back up again.

“feel like sharing?” you ask, nodding towards his half-finished bottle.

wordlessly, he hands the bottle to you and watches as you bring the mouth to your lips and take a long drink. he tracks the soft bobbing of your moon-lit throat and feels his own mouth go dry at the sight.

across the fire, sanji watches with a growing smile and nami rolls her eyes.

“oi, moss-head — mind if i take a swig too?” sanji asks as you hand back the bottle, dragging the back of your hand across your lips, and zoro turns to pin sanji with a glare.

“get your own,” he says, before polishing off the rest with a few hard sips and tossing the bottle into a rapidly growing pile.

zoro licks his lips and tries not to think about the way your lips had fit around the bottle just right; he tries not to wonder if you’d taste like wine. or, if he’d even have the mind to think that far if you were to let him kiss you.

three.

“… and then, you pull it through… like this?” you slowly bring your arm through a swiping movement, your hands clutched around the hilt of a wooden training sword. zoro sighs, shaking his head.

“uh — not quite — here,” he pushes off from the barrel he’s sitting on to circle around behind you, wrapping one hand around both of yours, the other palm curling around your middle to press against your stomach, “you’re breaking in your waist again — keep your core tight and —” he helps you swing the sword through in a swift arc.

“oh.”

it takes him a second to realize how close you are, how he can feel your entire back pressed against his entire front, how perfectly you fit into his arms, how easy it’d be to hold you to him and never let go.

“so just… practice that a few hundred times,” he says, stumbling back as his cheeks go hot and he feels the inexplicable urge to toss himself into the calm, saltine waves below, if only to cool down just a bit.

“will you practice with me?” you ask, your smile wider than the sky is wide — zoro is sure.

he blinks at you for a second before making a show of sighing and rolling his eyes.

“ah… i guess i could use a bit of practice too.”

he pulls out the wadou ichimonji and takes his stance next to you.

“ready?” he asks.

you nod, glancing over and adjusting your posture.

“okay, how many are we doing?”

zoro casts around for a number, “a thousand.”

“zoro!”

“five… hundred?”

you cast him a look that makes his stomach flip inside him.

“how about we start with a hundred, and then i’ll see how i feel from there?”

zoro clicks his tongue, smirking, “i could do a hundred in my sleep.”

you make a show of rolling your eyes, “fine then — go take a nap!”

zoro huffs as he clears his throat, “right then — let’s start — one, two —”

you squeak as you hurry to catch up, jumping as he reaches out a hand to correct your posture.

up on the foredeck, luffy watches with usopp by his side.

“hey! i wonder if zoro would teach me sword tricks if i asked!”

usopp sighs, clapping luffy on the back even as he shakes his head.

“uh — not that i think he wouldn’t but … maybe you should just… let them do their thing, yeah?”

four.

“i think you really should tell her,” luffy says, slapping zoro on the shoulder, a bit harder than he’d intended. zoro winces, pressing a palm to his chest — still sore from their recent raid.

“i don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

luffy laughs, leaning forward against the railing, “nami said you’d say that.”

zoro fights the urge to scowl as he sighs, his eyes narrowed at the damnably calm horizon. at least if the weather weren’t so nice, he could make up an excuse to leave but —

“really, what’s the worse that could happen?” luffy asks.

zoro grunts, shooting luffy a sidelong look, “oh i don’t know, she doesn’t feel the same and shit gets awkward and —” he waves a hand at the going merry, “the crew falls apart.”

thankfully, luffy doesn’t pause to call him out on for once not denying it.

instead, he lets out a contemplative hum, “hm… yeah, that could happen. but… i don’t think it will.”

inside his chest, zoro’s heart clunks, strange and uncoordinated.

“why? she say something to you?” he can’t keep the curiosity from his voice, the stomach-squeezing anticipation he’d only ever associated with the heat of battle and a really good fight. but now, he feels it whenever you get too close, and he wonders if he can go insane like this — if one day his heart might just give out.

“nope!” luffy’s voice is too bright, too cheerful, and zoro feels himself rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, “i’ve just got a feeling!”

“a feeling.”

“yeah! and — have a little faith! the straw hat crew isn’t that fragile.”

with that, and another hearty clap to the shoulder that leaves zoro hissing in pain, luffy clomps off towards the kitchens, where sanji is already doing dinner prep. zoro lets out another sigh as he straightens, carefully stretching his arms to test the range of motion.

above him, a flock of migratory geese fly southward in a soft, arrowhead formation. zoro holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he watches them pass overhead.

a single feather flutters down towards him and he finds himself reaching out to catch in the palm of his hand.

a wish, huh, he thinks, twirling the feather between two fingers before casting around to make sure no one else can see him. satisfied that everyone else is either too far away or below decks, zoro closes his eyes and makes a wish —

alright roronoa, please. don’t fuck this up.

five.

“ahem.” zoro clears his throat after dinner, making a point to down a couple more drinks than usual. he’s never been one to believe in liquid courage, but… it couldn’t hurt, right?

“can we, uh, talk?”

you smile a smile that threatens to crack his chest wide open, nodding.

“sure! what’s up?”

across the room, sanji visibly stills but nami catches his eye and shakes her head ever so slightly.

“c’mon… not in here,” zoro says, jerking his head towards the hallway that leads to the decks above.

“what’s got you so secretive all of a sudden?” you ask as he leads you all the way up to the crows nest, reaching down to help tug you up, letting his hand linger in yours as you grin up at him.

“i’m allowed to have secrets,” he says, turning to stare out at the darkened sea, the summer moon hanging low and full-bellied over the glittering waters, the stars winking like so many all-seeing eyes.

“we all are, but… i thought we’d gotten all your big ones after that one night the whiskey bar —”

zoro coughs, “alright, alright — don’t need to bring that up again.”

you laugh, leaning forward to pillow your cheek against your crossed arms, propped up along the edge of the crows nest.

“so? what’s this new secret, then?”

zoro swallows, “uh — wouldn’t exactly call it new.”

“alright then, an old secret.”

“not super old, either —”

you turn to look at him, half-exasperated, half-amused, but when you catch sight of his expression, you still, pressing your lips.

“zoro? is… everything okay?”

he ticks his tongue against his teeth and lets out a long breath, as if bracing himself for something before he says —

“yeah. i think —” he clears his throat again, trying to recall what nami had said about just saying it and he tries again.

“i think i might like you.”

the coil in his chest feels tight enough to snap, but you’re quiet as he turns to steal a glance at you.

“oh,” you say, you expression curiously contemplative as you look out over the darkened seascape.

zoro has to physically stop himself from shaking you by the shoulders — say something, goddamnit! say anything!

“so…” he says, knitting his arms across his chest instead.

you turn towards him, your eyes bright as twin stars.

“you think you might like me, right?” you ask, and for a second, zoro can only blink down at you, completely thrown by your lack of reaction. of all the things he’d imagined you doing — everything from getting angry to apologizing to throwing yourself at him with an impassioned speech about how you’d felt the same since the beginning — this was not one of them.

“uh… yeah, pretty sure that’s what i said.”

you cock your head, a quick, bird-like gesture that makes zoro’s heart skitter inside his chest, threatening to leap from his mouth as you continue to stare up at him, completely unabashed.

“ah… so what do you think we should do then?”

zoro stares, “… do?”

“yeah, because if you’re not sure if you like me… we should do something to make sure, right?”

and it’s then that he sees the soft, playful uptick of your lips, the glittering darkness behind your eyes. the tension in his chest seems to loosen even as he lets out a breath, chuckling before quirking an eyebrow and taking a step towards you, caging you in against the crows nest’s edge.

“mm. you’re right — i can think of a few things we could try, though.”

“yeah?” you voice is little more than an exhale on the wind, but it’s the last thing zoro tastes before he finds his lips on yours.

as far as kisses go, zoro would later think back, it was a pretty damn good one.

it started as a slow kind of kiss, a soft, unfurling of breath on breath, and then lips on lips. the ghost-friction of promises made and kept and unbroken, the first spark to a fire that had been threatening to consume him since the moment he’d heard you laugh.

and then — just like that, he’s kissing you. and you’re kissing him back, the gravity and inevitability of it making his head spin even as he presses in closer. it is sweet and warm and trembling — soft and hard and deepening. he runs his tongue along the seam of your mouth and savors the way you gasp open for him.

just him.

he swallows it like he wants to swallow you, reaching up to sink his fingers into the silk and gossamer of your hair, pulling you so close he can feel your heartbeat thrumming against his chest, your nails as they curl into the linen of his shirt.

it takes everything inside him to pull back, and everything else left not to dive right back in again. you’re both panting, a little breathless, and zoro — a lot relieved.

“so…” you say, your tongue flickering out to lave across your bottom lip.

zoro doesn’t try to stop his eyes as he tracks the spine-tingling motion.

“so?”

you grin, biting back the shiver that chases through you at the deep, base rumble of his voice, echoing from his body to yours.

“what’s the verdict? have you decided if you like me yet?” you ask, batting your lashes even as he watches your own eyes drop down to his lips. a dark, warm, purring satisfaction curls inside his chest at the way your pupils dilate, black as the night, bright as all her favorite stars.

“hm,” zoro hums, leaning down to skim a knuckle along your jaw, slowly guiding your face towards his again, “dunno… jury’s still out… might have to try it a few more times. y’know… just to be sure.”

“mm…” you sigh as he leans down to graze his teeth along your pulse point, fingers tightening around your waist as he feels you tremble in his arms, “y-yeah… wouldn’t want you to be —” you hiccup as he sinks a soft bite into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “uncertain.”

“no…” and his voice is all groan and gravel as he lets himself breathe you in, “we certainly wouldn’t want that.”

bonus.

far below, beneath the decks of the going merry, sanji takes a long pull from a post-dinner cigarette, his lips twisting into a concerned sort of frown.

“it’s been a while since they’ve been up there. think we should go check on them?”

luffy shugs, still happily picking at the remains of the turkey carcass sitting in the middle of an oblong plate.

“they should be okay — i mean, they say that no news is good news, right?”

“uh, not sure that applies to this kinda thing,” usopp says as he makes to peak out of the nearest window.

nami swirls her drink, “i think they’re fine. and we’d hear if zoro threw himself off the crows nest, right?”

across the table, sanji blinks and luffy pauses in his munching.

“whoa, you think he’d really do that if she rejects him?” usopp asks, his face going a little pale.

nami rolls here eyes, “no.” and then a moment later, “but really, we’d hear him if he jumped, right?”

luffy licks his lips, shrugging, “dunno, probably though. he’s pretty heavy so he’ll make a pretty big splash.”

sanji taps a bit of ash into his empty bowl and lets out a long suffering breath.

“yeah, y’know really, no news is good news.”